


The Ministry Official

by AltheaG



Series: The Nigel Chaucer Chronicles [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dark Magic, F/M, Murder, Mystery, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:52:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 94,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltheaG/pseuds/AltheaG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part Three of the Nigel Chaucer Chronicles. The story picks up with Nigel entering his new position working at the Ministry of Magic, though he now he has to deal with jealousy and accusations of favouritism, even amongst his own friends. But in the middle of all this, a new crisis arises which will push Nigel to the very edges of his own abilities and even his sanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Real World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel's first day of work at the Ministry of Magic...

Parchment? Check.

New quills? Check.

Blue ink? Or should it be black? Blue and black inks? Check.

Briefcase…would he need a briefcase for work at the Ministry of Magic? Nigel suspected he would. Lots of papers and briefs to take home for review. He’d find a nice one at Huffington’s Fine Leathers, two doors down from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. That was good. Nigel could pop into the shop and see his two “blood brothers,” Fred and George. It had been a long time since he had seen the twins, since the massive post-N.E.W.T. bash at Malfoy Manor at the end of June, in fact.

Nigel spent the week after that mostly at the Ministry, signing contracts, getting a private tour of all the offices by Rufus Scrimgeour himself, and meeting Scrimgeour’s staff. It was far too many faces and names for Nigel to remember—after the defeat of the Dark Lord, Nigel’s mind had been so preoccupied either by N.E.W.T’s or by the prospect of this new and intimidating career, so that the task of memorising a few names now seemed almost too much. Many of them would double as Nigel’s staff. He saw a few familiar faces as he toured the Ministry, people he had met over a year ago when Professor McGonagall had brought him there.

So much had changed since then.

Since then, Nigel spent the majority of his summer at home in St. Luke, mostly hanging out with his muggle friends and Lucy, his girlfriend. They hadn’t done anything particularly spectacular—mostly, they had gone to the cinema, taken road trips in Nigel’s car, gone to discos and of course, McDougal’s, their favourite spot to sit back and relax and talk. They all knew that these casual, sublime days would too soon come to a bitter end. Jimmy was off to the London School of Economics, Clive to St. Andrew’s University up in Scotland, and Lucy would soon attend Cambridge—Nigel’s dream school. He found it difficult to mask his jealousy of her good fortune.

He made many promises to visit all of them when he could—that part was easy. All he needed to do was apparate. The tricky part, Nigel suspected, was finding the time. After all, they would be busy with lectures and tutorials and papers, whilst Nigel would be doing his own work. Though he didn’t fully know all the details and particulars of his post, the one thing Nigel did know was that it would be very involved and possibly very dangerous. That part he tried to conceal from his muggle friends and family.

Before he mysteriously became a wizard one day, two years ago, Nigel had made plans to attend Cambridge to study Biological Sciences, and then go on to Stanford University in California to study medicine. But those had been childhood dreams, dreams which had been painfully set aside a year ago so he could study magic full-time at Hogwarts. Even then, Nigel had not abandoned his hopes of entering the medical profession, though it would be as a Healer rather than as a muggle doctor. It was a compromise, but Nigel had reconciled himself to it. After all, he was a Potions prodigy—potions he brewed had already restored wizards to health, and a Shield potion he invented saved the life of his friend, Draco Malfoy. It seemed natural for him to go in that direction.

And then he unified Hogwarts.

That changed everything.

Nigel had done the impossible, something unheard of since the days of the Hogwarts founders, a thousand years ago. Through a combination of power, persuasion and politics, Nigel had forged a bond among the four Hogwarts Houses—he had reconciled the feud between Gryffindor and his own house, Slytherin, and managed to get sworn enemies to work together for the common good. It was this new union that brought down the Dark Lord Voldemort and brought about the arrests of many dangerous Death Eaters, including Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. Nigel, along with Harry Potter, had been lauded and awarded and celebrated and glorified by the entire wizarding community as a hero. Order of Merlin, First Class, no less.

That was in May.

But though the Dark Lord was dead and gone, many of his followers survived, determined to continue the mission of their lord and master. Therefore, the Minister of Magic commissioned Nigel to work by his side at the Ministry to help rid the wizarding world of this continued threat—Nigel reluctantly agreed, though he wished that he could just set it all aside and train to become a Healer. But he understood the magnitude of the situation, and therefore, accepted the Minister’s offer of the post. He had neglected to ask much about the job description, beyond the basics.

As the end of July neared and the reality of his new life rapidly approached, Nigel decided to go to Diagon Alley to do a little shopping. He needed some supplies, new work robes, and a few other random items, including a wedding gift for Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour, whose wedding had been postponed because of the imminent threat the Dark Lord posed last year. Now, the ritual was set for the middle of August, and Nigel scrambled to purchase them a gift, knowing he wouldn’t have time once he started working. What to get them perplexed Nigel, but he supposed that if he looked hard enough, he’d start to get some good ideas. If they were muggles, he knew exactly what he would get, but he wasn’t sure that a witch and wizard would be able to use a toaster oven. So he pondered and window shopped, with little luck.

After he had bought his new briefcase and vanished it to his house, he made his way to the Weasleys’ shop to say hello. Fred—or was it George?—spotted him first.

“Oi, George!” Fred called. It was Fred after all. “Our third twin is here!”

Immediately, George bounded out from the back room to say hello. Both twins wore the most garish, flashing orange suits Nigel had ever seen. He couldn’t help but stare openly at the sight of the two of them in their spangles.

“Hey, guys!” Nigel said, embracing each brother warmly.

“Good to see you, Nige,” Fred said.

“You look great, Nige,” George said.

“So do you,” Nigel replied. “Those suits are…”

“Pretty spiffing, right?” George said proudly.

“Flashy as hell!” Nigel said, laughing. “So how’s the fam?”

“Great!” Fred said. He cocked his head to one side. “Dad’s got a promotion at the Ministry last week, which is about bloody time. Doubled his salary! Oh yeah, and we’ve got Ron with us now, just for the summer, thank the gods.”

“I suppose he’s helping you sell your stuff?”

George snorted. “We wish! He’d rather play with our stuff, actually! We have him demonstrating new products for the public, since he’s got absolutely no business sense and rotten salesmanship. But he’s good at showing everyone how the products work.”

“So why do you only have him for the summer?”

Fred shuddered. “The Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” he said gravely. “Can you imagine? Officer Ron?” George laughed.

“Why is that bad?” Nigel asked. He thought it was a good fit.

Fred raised a dubious eyebrow. George shrugged. “I guess we’ll see,” George said. “So, Nigel, you in need of any of our products? You can take what you want, no charge.”

“Oh, I can’t do that,” Nigel said. “Actually, though, maybe you guys can give me some idea about what to get Bill and Fleur for the wedding. I have no ideas at all.”

Fred and George looked at each other brightly. “Hold on,” Fred said, disappearing into the back room. He quickly reappeared, holding up a foot-square box. He opened it up and produced what looked like a crystal ball. Nigel laughed derisively.

“Ah, the laugh of disbelief,” George said wryly.

Fred shook his head in mock exasperation. “Such skeptics, George.”

“OK, so it’s not a crystal ball? What is it then?” Nigel asked.

“Only the best home security device on the market,” George said proudly. “Set this anywhere in your house, and if someone comes to the door, all you do is look into the ball to see who it is. No more looking through windows and risking some dark wizard seeing you.”

Actually, Nigel thought that was a pretty good idea. “That’s pretty good,” he replied.

“Sure! Best place for it is in the kitchen or the bedroom…” George continued.

“Which is where most newlyweds spend their time,” Fred interjected. Nigel laughed.

“And think on it, Nige,” George said. “Bill and Fleur are going to get shedloads of bowls and candlesticks and household appliances and cauldrons. This is unique, and considering the dangers that are still around. Pretty serious times, very risky.”

“OK, you sold me. And I’ll take a second one for my own house. Muggles can use it, right?” Nigel said, reaching inside his robes for his moneybag. But then, Fred stopped him.

“No charge, to the Ministry Official,” he said.

“No! Of course I’ll…” Nigel began.

But Fred gripped Nigel’s moneybag and set it aside. “No charge,” he repeated. “Your money is no good here.”

Nigel blushed. “Well thanks.”

“No, Nigel,” George said. “Thank YOU. And yeah, your parents can use it, too.”

Nigel had received what he saw as special treatment far too often these days. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what he had done. Nigel understood perfectly well that he had been a part of an extraordinary enterprise. But people were treating him as if he had engineered the entire thing. OK, so much of it was his idea, but he had loads of help, and in the end, it was Harry who killed the Dark Lord. OK, so it was Nigel’s quick action that allowed Harry to perform the Avada Kedavra curse on Lord Voldemort, but then again, there were others who played instrumental roles in the whole thing. People like his cousin, Severus Snape, and Draco Malfoy, too. In Nigel’s mind, this was entirely a collective effort, even if it was he who had persuaded the various parties to come together in the first place.

George’s “thank YOU” stayed with Nigel as he continued down the street, back toward the Leaky Cauldron. He made one quick stop at the Apothecary’s to pick up a few Potions supplies—a little frog spawn and some aconite and Valerian root. That done, he continued on down Diagon Alley, heading toward Jonas & Jonah, the newest, hippest clothing store on the street.

“Nigel!” a male voice called behind him. Nigel had grown used to that, too—random people calling on him in the middle of the street. He wondered what it would be this time, hoping it wouldn’t be another autograph seeker.

He grudgingly turned around, only to see, to his great relief, a grinning Arthur Weasley ten paces behind him, waving madly. He rushed forward to greet Nigel.

“Hey there!” Nigel said, shaking hands with Arthur. “I was just at Fred and George’s.” He held up the package. “How are you?”

“Wonderful, wonderful,” he replied. “Just here on a few errands, getting Ginny a few things for her Seventh Year. She’s Head Girl! Did you hear?”

“That’s great! You must be so proud of her! Hey, and congratulations on the promotion as well! Fred and George told me.”

“Arthur! We need to go!” Molly Weasley called, thoroughly annoyed. She did not glance at Nigel once. Nigel found that rather odd, considering how warm and friendly she normally was.

Arthur looked back at her furtively. “Just a moment, dear,” he said, a little irritated. “Yes, I just got it just last week.”

“Arthur!” Molly called again, more shrilly this time.

“Well, I’ll see you Monday at the Ministry, then,” Arthur said, tenuously turning toward his wife. “Just coming, dear.”

At home that evening, Nigel laid out all his new clothes—robes in charcoal grey, navy blue, dark green, deep purple. There was something so elegant about them, how they flowed and swept across the floor as he walked to and fro in them. And yet, he still felt as if he were in fancy dress when he wore them. Even as a full-time student at Hogwarts last year, the robes never felt quite natural to him. After all, he had been a muggle for sixteen years—he wore muggle clothes, studied maths and chemistry and literature just like any other muggle.

But that was all over. He was a wizard now, a full-blown, powerful wizard. Nigel knew this, accepted the reality of his new identity, but standing there in his muggle bedroom, looking at himself in these still-strange robes in the mirror, all he could do was wonder what he was doing. Even that Friday, as he celebrated his eighteenth birthday with his family and friends, Nigel continued to question the decisions he had made about his life. He had thrown away any chance of a career as a muggle physician, any hope of attending muggle university—by going to Hogwarts full-time last year, he had decided not to take his A-levels. All Nigel could hope for was that he had made the right decision.

* * * * *

Monday morning, August 3, came very bright and way too early. Nigel woke up to a terrible stomachache and a serious case of the jitters. In spite of his mother’s best efforts, Nigel couldn’t eat a thing that morning. All he could manage was some tea. After he finished his tea, Nigel went upstairs to get dressed for his first day of work. He chose the green robes which he put on assiduously, not wanting to look rumpled or sloppy on his first day. Back downstairs, his mother looked him over, her eyes filling with tears.

“Well, how do I look?” Nigel asked.

“Like a wizard,” she replied. “A very handsome, clever wizard.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Honey, if you want to change your mind about this…”

“No, Mum, you know I don’t,” Nigel said sympathetically. “Look, I know this isn’t exactly what you planned for me. To be honest, I didn’t, either. But I made a commitment to this cause, and I…”

Mrs. Chaucer stopped him. “I know, honey. You don’t have to explain.” She sighed and dried her eyes. “Well, have a good day. Your father and I want to hear every detail.”

Nigel walked out the back garden, through the gate and into the alleyway just behind the house. Stepping carefully behind a partition of large boxes he had placed there, Nigel disapparated. Over the summer, he and Snape had placed anti-apparation charms on the entire property, which kept out potential intruders and nosy reporters. The only problem was that it meant that Nigel had to disapparate outside without being seen by his neighbours. Thus, when he placed the large boxes in the alleyway, Nigel remembered to place a protective charm on them so that they couldn’t be moved or vanished by anyone.

Arriving at the Ministry was like diving into a tempest of flurried activity. Witches and wizards apparated right and left, Nigel amongst them all. All he knew was to report to the witch at the front desk, who would inform someone that he was here, and then they would take him to his office somewhere in the building. That was the one thing he hadn’t seen yet—apparently it was being decorated the week of his last visit. As Nigel stood in line at the front desk, a lot of people took time to greet him, shake his hand, welcome him to the Ministry. The four people in front of him offered to step aside to let Nigel go first, but Nigel declined, blushing hotly at all the attention.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait very long anyway. A tall, elegantly attired young witch with golden blonde, wavy hair and very pretty green eyes emerged from the amassed crowd, holding a clipboard and a quill.

“Mr. Chaucer?” she called out.

“Oh!” Nigel replied. “Yes, that’s me! Right here!” He stepped out of line and approached her.

“I’m Donna, from the Minister’s office. I’m here to take you to your office. The Minister is waiting for you right now.”

As they made their way through the tangle of harried witches and wizards all rushing to get to their offices and departments, Nigel could only look on nervously. His sour stomach grumbled. Fortunately, Donna was quite friendly.

“You probably don’t remember me,” she said. “I was a Seventh Year when you were a part-timer.”

“What house were you in?”

“Hufflepuff. My little brother is a Fifth Year Ravenclaw. He wants to be just like you. Isn’t that cute? He’s a wicked Quiddich player.” She giggled.

Nigel chuckled uneasily. “He sounds like a good kid.”

“You gave him an autograph at the celebration,” she went on. “He’s got it framed on his wall.”

“Wow,” Nigel replied, a bit cowed.

As they rounded the corner, the Minister of Magic himself approached them, congenially opening his arms to greet Nigel.

“Nice to see you, Chaucer!” he said. “Glad to have you aboard.”

Nigel took a deep breath. “Well, I’m ready for it, Minister. I hope.” He laughed nervously.

“Your assistant will be along in just a few minutes. He’s finishing up something in his office. Speaking of which,” Scrimgeour said excitedly. “I’d like to show you yours. Thank you, Donna, that’s all.”

Donna smiled kittenishly at Nigel and disappeared down the corridor. Scrimgeour took Nigel by the arm and led him through a heavy oak door and into a splendid, elegant, massive office.

“Well, Chaucer? What do you think?” Scrimgeour asked proudly.

“It’s very impressive,” Nigel replied. “Is my office nearby?”

Scrimgeour laughed as if Nigel had just told the funniest joke in the world. “This IS your office, Chaucer! Mine’s around the corner.”

“Mine?” Nigel exclaimed, horrified. “Th…This is my office? It’s HUGE!”

“You need the space, Chaucer. In your position, you’ll be meeting frequently with large groups and delegations nearly every day of the week. You’ll need room for people, plans, blueprints, diagrams. This isn’t about privilege or favouritism, believe me. This is sheer practicality.”

As Nigel looked all around him at everything in the office, he wondered if others would see it as the Minister did. His desk alone was the biggest he had ever seen, bigger even than Professor McGonagall’s, and that was the biggest desk he had ever seen before. At one end of the office was a large conference table surrounded by twenty chairs. The bookshelves, which ran the length of one wall, contained every reference book he would likely need to do his job. And at the other end of the office was a smaller table, behind which was a door.

“Your assistant’s office is just through there,” Scrimgeour explained. “I’m leaving it to him to explain the nature of your job and your first assignment. I’ve got a meeting with the Romanian Minister in about ten minutes, so I really have to get going. In the meantime, why don’t you get settled? Rummage through the desk and see what you’ve got. Make yourself at home! After all, you’ll be spending many hours here.”

For a couple of minutes, all Nigel could do was sit in the plush, extremely comfortable chair behind his enormous desk and look blankly around him, trying desperately to process everything. Here he was, barely eighteen years old, with a luxurious office, an assistant, everything at his fingertips. Nigel felt his age painfully, worried now that he couldn’t do his job and that no one would take him seriously. He knew he was of age, a man, and yet when he looked in the mirror, he saw a boy. All his life, like any kid, Nigel had grown used to being told what to do with every aspect of his life, and all at once, like the accident that had left him battered and broken two years ago, all bets were off.

As the real world encroached on his childhood fantasy world, Nigel understood in one burning moment that nothing would ever be the same.


	2. The New Assistant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Top drawer, left hand side—quills, ink, blotter paper, pencils, erasers. Top drawer, right hand side—parchment in ivory, beige, blue and sea green. He didn’t much like that shade of green. Could he get it changed? Perhaps the assistant could arrange new green parchment for him. Actually, Nigel had no idea what his assistant would do or what sort of assisting he would give. Nigel felt somewhat sure that the assistant was more than just a secretary, but the question remained. Would he schedule meetings? Do errands? Take Nigel’s robes to the cleaners? Nigel hoped it would be more than that. He wanted an assistant who could really help him find his way around the place and around all these people he now had to deal with._

Top drawer, left hand side—quills, ink, blotter paper, pencils, erasers. Top drawer, right hand side—parchment in ivory, beige, blue and sea green. He didn’t much like that shade of green. Could he get it changed? Perhaps the assistant could arrange new green parchment for him. Actually, Nigel had no idea what his assistant would do or what sort of assisting he would give. Nigel felt somewhat sure that the assistant was more than just a secretary, but the question remained. Would he schedule meetings? Do errands? Take Nigel’s robes to the cleaners? Nigel hoped it would be more than that. He wanted an assistant who could really help him find his way around the place and around all these people he now had to deal with.

In the midst of his reverie and his rummaging through the desk, Nigel didn’t notice that Arthur Weasley had entered his office and now stood before him, watching him jovially.

“Settling in then?” Arthur asked brightly.

“Hey! Nice to see you, Arthur!” Nigel said, getting up to shake Arthur’s hand. “Can you believe this office? I feel like I’m in the Great Hall or something!”

“Word around the Ministry is that your office is bigger than the Minister’s.”

“This is insane!” Nigel exclaimed. “It’s too much! I’m only hoping that my new assistant will be able to explain all this to me, because none of this is making any sense. Hey, I’m glad you stopped by. It’s good to see a familiar face on my first day. Is your office near here?”

Arthur looked at him curiously. “So Rufus didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Now Nigel was worried. “Is everything OK?”

“Oh yes, fine. No, you see, I am your new assistant. I thought Rufus would have mentioned it.”

That couldn’t be right. Arthur was an experienced Ministry official, not some gofer. He’d been at the Ministry for at least thirty years, maybe more! An assistant? To an 18 year-old barely out of school? Nigel’s mind blanked for a split second. “Wait…WHAT? You’re my…you’re my ASSISTANT?”

“That’s right,” Arthur replied casually.

All of a sudden, Nigel could see Molly’s angry face. He gasped. “Oh my gods! Is that why she was…”

“Molly doesn’t understand what my new post is. Believe me, Nigel, I’ve tried to tell her what it involves. She wasn’t even impressed that my salary was doubled for me to do this job. But don’t worry about her. I can handle it. If you think I’m some sort of errand boy, you are quite mistaken. I tried to tell Molly that, but she won’t listen to me.”

“What exactly what do you do, then?” Nigel asked, equally flummoxed by the situation. “I mean, shouldn’t I be the one acting as your assistant?”

Arthur chuckled. “I’m no politician, Nigel, whereas you are. That’s what Molly won’t understand. You see, your job will require you to negotiate, argue, make deals and make crucial decisions every single day. You’re a commander. Plus, you will likely need to use a good bit of Legilimency in your post, which is a skill I do not possess. My job is to help you make those decisions. I’ve been around the Ministry for more years than you’ve been alive, so my assistance and guidance will be invaluable to you.”

“So you’re sort of like a mentor?” Nigel asked hopefully.

Arthur pondered for a moment. “Yes and no. Likely in these early weeks as you’re getting to know people and learning who to trust, but as you move on and become acquainted with people, my role will change. You’re very clever Nigel, and I think you’ll adjust to this quickly.”

Nigel suddenly felt very uncomfortable behind that desk, with Arthur sitting opposite him. “Can we retire to that smaller table over there?” he asked.

That felt better, more natural, more…equal.

“Are you going to miss your old job with Muggle Artifacts?” Nigel asked. He had conjured up some tea and scones for both of them.

“I won’t if you make me one promise. Since you live in a muggle town, I would love it if you could bring in some interesting muggle artifact from time to time, just so I can take a look. Molly would kill me if I brought any of it home.”

Nigel grinned. “I can do better than that, Arthur! I can invite you to my house! You can watch telly, play a computer game, heat something in the microwave, whatever you want. Consider it an open invitation.”

Arthur looked as excited as a six year-old at Zonko’s or Honeyduke’s. “With your parents’ permission, of course. I wouldn’t dream of intruding.”

“They’ll love to see you again, especially my Dad. Jimmy and Clive will like to see you again, and so will Lucy. And I’ll even take you around my town, if you want. We’ll both have to dress like muggles, of course, but if you don’t mind…”

“Absolutely not! I’d love to do that! I even own a pair of muggle blue jeans.”

They laughed, but soon, Arthur’s face grew serious. “Well, then, Nigel, why don’t I explain your job to you more clearly. I also have an issue you’ll need to act on immediately. In fact, this issue is your job.”

“The Minister indicated that I’d be helping to round up the rest of the Dark Lord’s supporters and bringing them to justice.”

“In theory, that’s correct,” Arthur said. “On paper, your job description is to create and direct a multi-departmental task force in the effort to locate, arrest and prosecute the last of…Lord Voldemort’s supporters. The reality is a little more complex.” He opened a folder containing several parchments filled with detailed information.

“What’s all that?” Nigel asked.

“A situation just came to our attention three weeks ago, Nigel, and it needs immediate action,” Arthur said, now even more serious. He glanced over the information in front of him and continued. “There is a new threat out there not unlike that posed by Lord Voldemort. Are you familiar with the term _insurgency_?”

“It’s like an uprising, right?”

“Precisely. The death of Lord Voldemort has unfortunately generated an insurgency among Dark wizards. With the worst of the Death Eaters now residing in Azkaban, and with Voldemort dead, some on the Dark side see this as the time to seize power.”

“Do you have suspects? Have things already begun to happen?” Nigel asked. He felt a bit sick already.

“The notes I’ve just given you detail everything that’s gone on since May. It seems on the one hand that certain individuals are working independently to cause havoc and chaos, and yet, Aurors have some proof that they may be linked to a central leader, a man previously unknown to us as a Dark wizard, at least not for anything serious. He has a very sketchy background, but he’s mostly a petty criminal, not especially Dark.” He handed a sheet to Nigel, who glanced it over.

“He was a Hufflepuff?” Nigel asked.

“At school, he was known as Geoffrey Taylor,” Arthur explained.

“That doesn’t sound very Dark,” Nigel said offhandedly. He scanned some of the notes as Arthur went on.

“He left Hogwarts after his fourth year, however, when he was not chosen as Prefect. After that, he sort of fell off the proverbial radar. But right after Lord Voldemort was killed, dozens of witches and wizards disappeared from their families.”

“Were they kidnapped? Killed?”

“No. They left willingly, went to some undisclosed location for about three weeks, emerging mid-June. Since then, all sorts of people have been getting attacked, either in groups or individually. A dozen have died in these attacks and two dozen more are at St. Mungo’s. Some will be in hospital permanently, I’m sad to say.”

“And _The Daily Prophet_ hasn’t reported any of this? I mean, this is all news to me.”

“The Ministry instructed them not to.”

Nigel frowned. “But if people are getting hurt and killed, shouldn’t the public know about this? What has the Ministry been doing to stop it?”

“At this point, we’re still gathering information about who these people are and what they want. There are no clear answers. One important thing is to discover just how many of them there are. We think, however, that their activity will escalate. We’d like to get a handle on this before it gets out of control. The last thing we want on our hands is another gang of Death Eaters.”

“So this Geoffrey Taylor, who is he?”

“That’s the problem, Nigel,” Arthur replied. “There is no record of a Geoffrey Taylor currently known to the Ministry.”

“And yet you tie all this activity to him? How do you know this is the same guy?”

Arthur smiled sympathetically. “My suggestion to you right now is to acquaint yourself with all this information so that you can start to gather your team and plan a strategy of attack. Like I said, this is an urgent matter.”

“Do you really think this could be another Dark Lord?” Nigel asked, sounding weaker than he intended.

Arthur didn’t reply. He stood up. “If we can take care of this quickly, then no, I think we can prevent him from becoming another Voldemort. But we have to act fast.”

“What did you mean by my team?”

“Which departments of the Ministry you want to be involved.”

Which departments? Nigel had no idea. “You’ll advise me on that, right?”

“Certainly. I’ll do better than that—I’ll even recommend specific people to you. But you need to read all this information first. I reckon that you’ll be able to come to most of your decisions on your own.”

Nigel spent the rest of day pouring over each and every document Arthur had given him, taking copious notes as he went:

_Dates at Hogwarts: September, 1971 – June, 1975._

_Hometown: Cambridge_

_Parents: Geoffrey (Ravenclaw) and Callista (Slytherin) Taylor—purebloods_

_Siblings: 2 older brothers (James and Randal—both Ravenclaw), 2 younger brothers (Steven and Aaron—both Slytherin)_

_Scholastic reputation: average_

_O.W.L’s: none (left before Fifth Year)_

_Languages spoken: English, Russian, Italian, Spanish, French_

_Known friends: ???_

_Last known occupation: Illegal unicorn blood trade—never apprehended (not a good sign)_

_Criminal record: 6 months in Azkb. for attempted robbery of apothecary in Cambridge, 2 years for forgery, 2 ½ years for bribery._

_Last seen: June, 1998, Cambridge (hmm)—in the company of two Death Eaters and six unknown individuals (could these be his brothers? where are his brothers? are they even sure it was Taylor at all?)_

As he continued to read and make notes on all the documentation on Geoffrey Taylor, or whoever the heck he was now, Nigel grew more and more tense. How was it they could know so much about him and not know where he was or even what he was now called? Was this man hiding in plain view? Were they mistaken? Could it be that Geoffrey Taylor was killed and someone else took his identity? Could this be a case of someone using Polyjuice Potion to make Taylor look guilty? Could one of his Slytherin siblings be involved? Nigel hoped not. As he read on, it became clear to Nigel that anything was possible.

What about his team? Actually, that sounded comforting to him, knowing that he wouldn’t have to deal with this alone. Nigel wanted to draw on as much experience as he could from more seasoned witches and wizards—if this was to be dealt with quickly, as Arthur indicated it should be, then Nigel knew he would need the very best.

* * * * *

Mr. Chaucer arrived home from work early that day so that both he and his wife could greet Nigel after his first day in the working world. They expected Nigel to bound in, full of stories and anecdotes and jokes about his new colleagues. But instead, a tired and distressed Nigel arrived home, nearly too distracted to know his surroundings. The hour was very late.

“Rough day?” Mr. Chaucer asked, giving his son an encouraging hug.

“My head is still spinning, I think,” Nigel replied, collapsing onto the settee.

“It’s well past eight, Nigel,” Mrs. Chaucer noted, her voice concerned and irritated. “That’s awfully late to keep a boy on his first day.”

“There’s a lot going on, Mum,” Nigel replied, wincing at the word “boy.” “I have a big job to do. I had a ton of reading today, and then I had two long meetings this afternoon. And then, Arthur and I did all sorts of work on this task force I’m supposed to form. It was really busy.”

“Sounds like it,” she said. “Are you sure you’re ready for all this?”

Nigel sighed. “I have to be, Mum. It’s my job.”

Mr. Chaucer looked at him quizzically. “Do they all dress like that at the Ministry?” he asked.

“Pretty much,” Nigel said. “I thought I’d be a bit too dressed up, but everyone is like this.” He paused, suddenly understanding what his father meant. “Yes, Dad, we all wear robes. That’s what wizards and witches wear.”

Mr. Chaucer had not been quite as supportive of Nigel’s new position as Mrs. Chaucer had. He had accepted the fact that his son was a wizard and would not go to university or become a doctor in spite of Nigel’s dreams. He hoped his son would find happiness as a Healer, but when that, too, didn’t happen, Mr. Chaucer became increasingly doubtful about this whole wizard business. He was proud of his son’s accomplishments, to be sure, but couldn’t help but feel very afraid for Nigel, especially after what happened at Malfoy Manor in May. In fact, he nearly snapped Nigel’s wand in two, until he remembered that his son was equally powerful without a wand. And so, all that was left for Mr. Chaucer was to accept his son’s new life and somehow try to live with it. Hearing about new pressures on his son made Mr. Chaucer all the more apprehensive and worried.

Therefore, when Nigel proposed inviting Arthur Weasley over to dinner from time to time, Mr. Chaucer was a bit reluctant. He vaguely remembered Arthur from all that had just happened, but Mr. Chaucer had hoped that all of those people would fade conveniently into the background as Nigel moved on with his life. It wasn’t that he disliked Arthur or distrusted him—but Mr. Chaucer had come to associate most wizards with that violent and dangerous event which threatened to end his son’s life.

But he knew he couldn’t say that to Nigel. His son had made his choice in life, and Mr. Chaucer determined to honour that, as difficult as that was for him to accept. After all, as a father, he still wanted to protect Nigel and keep him safe. He had nearly lost him once, in that horrible accident two years ago—the grief and anxiety over that had nearly killed Mr. Chaucer, and the last thing he wanted was to endure that a second time. Perhaps, he thought, having Arthur Weasley to dinner was a good idea—he could then make it clear that he expected Arthur to keep Nigel safe from harm. In Mr. Chaucer’s mind, the wizarding world meant very little to him. His wizard son, however, meant everything.

That night at dinner, Nigel said little and ate a great deal. He sensed keenly his father’s uneasiness about this whole job, and decided that this might not be the best time to tell them that he was now charged with seeking out another mass killer. Instead, he regaled his parents with all the details about the office, the Ministry itself, and about Donna, too. Mrs. Chaucer chuckled at that.

“Will you be telling Lucy about Donna?” she asked tartly.

“I only met her once, Mum!” Nigel said defencively. “She was nice.”

“I’m sure she was,” Mrs. Chaucer replied sarcastically.

“So what exactly do you do, son?” Mr. Chaucer asked.

Uh oh. This was not a question Nigel wanted to answer. “Well, a lot of the job details are still a bit sketchy, Dad,” he said. “I’m still sort of reviewing all the facts.”

“You mean the job description?” Mr. Chaucer asked.

“Well, yeah, sort of. I mean, the job will sort of clarify itself as I get more involved in it, sort of,” Nigel replied, growing increasingly discomfited.

“You said _sort of_ three times, Nigel,” Mr. Chaucer said.

“I’m sorry, Dad, but I just don’t have all the details yet,” Nigel replied.

Mr. Chaucer frowned. “If they’re planning of putting you in danger again, I’m going to have a problem with that.”

Nigel sighed impatiently. “Honestly, Dad, I really don’t know what the dangers might be.”

“So there might be some?” Mrs. Chaucer said, alarmed.

“It’s possible,” Nigel said.

Mrs. Chaucer dropped her fork onto her plate with a loud clank. “But he’s dead,” she said. “Harry killed him, didn’t he?”

“Well yeah, Mum, but not all his supporters have been apprehended. They need to be dealt with, too, otherwise no one is safe.”

She shook her head mournfully. “Oh Nigel,” she grumbled.

“Come on, Mum, don’t,” he replied. He knew what she was thinking—without Legilimency. “I told you, I need to do this. It’s important! Look, I’m not going to be reckless or anything, I swear. I’ll be very careful. But we’re still living in dangerous times, so even if I had the most boring desk job, I could still be in danger. I’d rather be out there fighting it than trying to hide away like a coward.”

Mrs. Chaucer smiled at him warmly. Mr. Chaucer looked away, but after a very uncomfortable silence, he spoke.

“What’s this you said about a task force you’re supposed to form? Is this to do with getting rid of the Dark Lord’s supporters?”

Nigel nodded. “We’ll be working together on this, Dad. It won’t just be me. I swear.”

Mr. Chaucer looked at him dangerously. “Well it had better not be. I want you to remember something very important, son.”

“What?”

“If anything happens to you, Nigel, those bloody wizards will pay.”

Nigel sighed. “Dad, nothing is going…”

“You nearly got killed in May! Why are you in less danger now?” he replied hotly. “It sounds like you’re in more danger!”

“I don’t know that for sure,” Nigel replied defencively. “I’m only just starting to read about this situation. Dad, you don’t have to worry. I’m a very powerful wizard.” Normally, Nigel would never have said something like that to anyone, however, he felt like needed to reassure his father of his safety. He wanted to prove his strength to his father and assure him that he was no longer a little boy or a wounded teen.

Mrs. Chaucer frowned. “Honey, when you’re a parent, you’ll understand our fears for you. A parent naturally worries about their children, even on the best day in the safest place. But it’s clear that nothing is safe for you.”

Nigel looked down. “I know, Mum,” he said quietly. “Look, Arthur and I are trying to resolve this situation quickly so that it will be safe. You just need to trust me.”

“I trust you, Nigel,” Mr. Chaucer said. “It them I don’t trust.”

After dinner, Nigel apparated to Lucy’s, where they sat on the settee in the front parlour. Unfortunately, the conversation with her went just about the same as it had with his parents. More worries, more fretting, more questions about Nigel’s resolve. And when Lucy suggested that he give it up and go back to Sixth Form, Nigel became angry. He was tired of the same old explanations, and he was especially annoyed by the general lack of confidence he was getting from his muggle friends and family. Didn’t they get it?

“Lucy,” he said, “how can I just drop everything and go back to muggle school? That’s impossible, and what’s more, it’s irresponsible!”

“But you don’t have to live as a wizard,” she said.

“Maybe not, but I choose to. This is what I am, Lucy. I tried living a double life for a whole year, and it was just too hard! I can’t keep dividing myself. I thought you understood that.”

“People have asked about you, you know, friends from school.” Her voice sounded edgy, irritated.

Nigel sensed a serious argument, but he kept his mouth shut, trying to be as understanding as he could. “What do they want to know?”

“Where you’ve been, mostly. To be honest, I’m running out of stories to tell them. You know, Nigel, you may not have to live a double life any more, but I do! Remember last year when Jimmy and Clive asked about your studies and you told them all those lies? Well those are the same lies I have to tell. You’ve pretty much cut yourself off from the muggle world, but I still live in it, and I don’t like having to lie for you!”

He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’m sorry, Lucy,” he said. “I didn’t realise. You’re right, of course. But…”

She pulled away. “But you won’t even consider what I’ve said?” she asked.

“No. That’s not possible!”

“It is!”

“It isn’t!”

Lucy looked at him intently. “I love you Nigel, but it’s very hard for me to have to hide your life from our friends. Can’t you see that? I want to be with you, but when I want to talk about you to my girlfriends, there isn’t much I can say without violating your secrecy laws.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Nigel admitted, downcast. He never intended to be a burden on his girlfriend, at least not like that. “I never thought we’d be fighting about this again.”

“We’re discussing, Nigel, not fighting,” Lucy replied sharply. “I’m just telling you the reality I have to face as a muggle. You don’t have to worry about hiding my life or my identity.”

“No, but if a muggle acquaintance asks me what I do for a living, what am I supposed to say?”

“Exactly!” she said. “That’s the whole point!”

“But what you’re suggesting means I’ll have to cut myself almost completely from one world or the other!” Nigel argued. “I can’t do that. I have to figure out how to live in both worlds, as a wizard with muggle friends and family. You’ve got to give me some time, Lucy. Isn’t that reasonable? This is still new to me. It was one thing to be at school, but now that I’m out there in the world working, everything is different. You’ve got to understand that.”

“I do, baby, I do.” She kissed him gently on the lips. “But you also have to understand me.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his chest. They remained like that for a while, not talking any more, just thinking. Nigel held her close, fearing that if he let her go, she might never come back.


	3. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An innocent conversation with Hermione Granger opens Nigel to a host of unexpected complications. Just what had he gotten himself into anyways?

Tuesday morning—same routine. Rise, shower, brush teeth, shave, dress, tea. This morning, Nigel managed to eat a scone before he had to rush off to the office. He had mounds of papers and documents to finish reading that morning before his luncheon meeting with the Minister, Kingsley Shaklebolt and Arthur Weasley. Nigel would have to come to some very crucial decisions before that meeting, which unnerved him. All he could hope for was that Arthur’s wisdom would carry him along.

When he apparated to the Ministry that morning, Nigel found himself within the usual throng of witches and wizards arriving for another day’s work. One young wizard had a half croissant sticking out of his mouth, _The Daily Prophet_ stuck under one arm, a tangle of parchments stuck under the other, and in one hand he struggled to open the lid of his cup of tea. Several people openly stared at Nigel as he moved through the crowded lobby toward his office, still treating him as a celebrity. A couple of witches stopped to say hello, and a very elderly wizard in rumpled grey robes stopped Nigel to shake his hand.

“I remember you from the celebration, boy,” he said in a creaky voice. He gave Nigel a pat on the shoulder and hobbled away into the crowd.

Nigel moved on, but then stopped again at the sound of a familiar voice calling his voice. Nigel turned to see who it might be, considering he barely knew anyone at the Ministry just yet. So, Nigel was overjoyed to see the bright and smiling face of Hermione Granger off in the distance, waving at him eagerly. He rushed over to greet her and give her a warm embrace.

“How are you?” he asked. “You look great! Good summer?”

“Brilliant,” she replied. “We took a family trip abroad for over a month. We went to Tibet.”

“Wow! That’s fantastic!”

“I learned so much there, and I met this American witch who’s studying Tibetan mandalas there. She was fascinating.”

“I bet.”

“So how about you, Nigel?”

“My summer was really quiet. I mostly caught up with my muggle friends since they’re all off to university this year. You still with Ron?”

“Yeah. He starts his Law Enforcement training next week. Harry will start Auror training then, too. They’re coming here today, so you just might run into them at some point. We’re taking a Ministry tour this afternoon.”

“When did you start at Muggle Relations?” Nigel asked.

“Yesterday. I looked for you at the Orientation, but I didn’t see you.”

“Orientation?” Orientation? Had he missed something important?

Hermione gave him a curious look. “We all have to do Orientation this week. Everyone new to the Ministry does. Even Harry and Ron do, before they start their training.”

Nigel reddened. “No one told me about Orientation. I just sort of started. The Minister showed me to my office…”

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You have an office? Your own office? No sharing?”

“Well yeah. It’s way too much, way too big, but the Minister assured me I’d need the space. And then, once I met my assistant…”

“Your _assistant_?” Hermione snapped, affronted. “You have an assistant, too?”

“I need one for my job.”

“But you’re brand new! You’re only eighteen! Who gives an eighteen year-old an office and an assistant?”

Nigel shrugged. “That’s what I thought, too, but Arthur assured me he was more like a mentor and guide than anything else, I mean, he’s been at the Ministry for years.”

“Arthur? Arthur who? Is he your assistant?”

“Arthur Weasley. Ron’s dad. But he…”

“Ron’s father is YOUR assistant?” Hermione cried. “That just isn’t right! I wondered why Mrs. Weasley spoke so ill of you last week.”

What was going on? Molly Weasley spreading gossip? That seemed out of character for her to be so petty. “So exactly what did she say about me?” Nigel asked, growing increasingly irritated.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does! You and Ron are my friends! What did she say?”

“Nigel, she was just angry and jealous. Neither of them mentioned Mr. Weasley’s post.”

“What about Ron? What did he say?”

“Nothing. He didn’t say a word. He probably doesn’t know, and I’ll be the last one in the world to tell him.”

Nigel didn’t know how to respond to that. He had never dreamed that he would become a source of shame or competition in the Weasley family. He had always liked the Weasleys, and in fact, he was overjoyed that Arthur was working with him. Even still, he couldn’t help but feel a sharp sting of embarrassment and self-consciousness just then.

“Doesn’t Molly see the bigger picture in all this? How can she say hateful things about me? She knows me!” Nigel said, exasperated. “Everyone seems to think that just because the Dark Lord is dead and gone, we can just go on to life as usual. But we can’t! Not yet! I would think that as a member of the Order, she would understand that more than most people.”

“She does see it,” Hermione said. Her face softened. “She’s just looking out for her husband. They’ve never had much financial success and…”

“But his salary is doubled! Fred and George told me that! She should be relieved!”

“She thinks the Ministry has never really appreciated her husband.”

“Why does she have to take that out on me? And by the way, they do trust him. This post he has is huge! It’s really important! He’s not some lackey! Just tell her that!” He looked down. “I’m sorry I’m such a grouch this morning, Hermione. Can I make it up to you? Maybe lunch tomorrow? My treat.”

Hermione smiled. “That would be nice.” She looked at Nigel’s dejected face and frowned. “Are you okay, Nigel?”

He sighed. “I think Lucy wants to break up with me again.”

“What?” Hermione gasped. “Why? Is that what she said?”

“We had a fight last night.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Not again. What is it this time?”

“It’s just like last year, when we fought about my becoming a wizard. Even after everything that happened last year, she wants me to leave the wizarding world and live as a muggle.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione declared. “She’s just afraid for you. You could have gotten killed, after all.”

“No, that’s not it,” Nigel replied. “My parents are afraid for me. Lucy is just…I don’t know. Maybe we could talk about it at lunch tomorrow, OK?”

She smiled and patted him on the arm. “Well, I’d best be off to Orientation. Good luck with your work today, Nigel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As Nigel sat in his plush office reading more about Geoffrey Taylor, he began to wish that he were off in Orientation with Hermione and the rest rather than sitting here reading about yet another evil, dark wizard on the loose. An hour later, Arthur joined him, again at the smaller table.

“So, interesting reading?” he asked a stressed-out looking Nigel.

Nigel groaned. “I think I’m in way over my head.”

Arthur chuckled. “I doubt that. You’re going to be just fine. It’s overwhelming starting a new post, especially in the middle of a crisis like this. You’ll get the hang of things.”

Nigel shrugged. “I hope so, Arthur. So, how’s Molly today? Hermione told me she’s been saying things about me.” He found it hard to mask his bitterness.

Arthur frowned. “I’m sorry about that, Nigel.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s just…”

“You can’t let Molly or anyone else interfere with your work, Nigel. Molly isn’t the only one saying those things, by the way.”

Nigel blanched. “I didn’t mean to imply that she was.”

“I know you didn’t. I’m just telling you the reality. A lot of people here look at you, quite frankly as an arrogant little show-off.”

“But I’m not!” Nigel snapped.

“Well I know that, Nigel, but not everyone else does. When Rufus brought you in, there were a lot of noses out of joint, mostly because of your age and your fame. This is part of Ministry politics, I’m afraid. They have no real idea of just how powerful you are, and what’s more, they’re jealous. This sort of backbiting goes on all the time here, which is why I’ve avoided politics up until now. Personally, I hate it. But, a low-key job doesn’t pay much.”

“Which is why Molly is upset?”

Arthur nodded. “Precisely. She wants me to advance, but quite honestly, the only way I can is to get caught up in all the crap. Nigel, Molly and I have been having this fight for thirty years, so please, son, don’t take it personally. You can’t let a little criticism get in your way. Ron’s told me so many great things about how you dealt with this very issue among your peers.”

“I did a binding charm on the whole school,” Nigel replied sheepishly. “I mostly just scared them.”

“The point is that you used diplomatic skills to bring about unity at Hogwarts and to restore your reputation. You’re going to have to do the same thing here, Nigel.” Arthur sniggered. “Just don’t try to bind the entire Ministry.”

Nigel laughed. “I’ll try,” he said, smirking.

“You are so important here, more so than perhaps you realise, and if Molly can’t understand it, that’s just her problem. It’s not your place to try and sort her out. Leave her to me.”

That thought chastened Nigel. “I didn’t mean to judge or anything.”

“I know you didn’t. I’ll talk to her again,” Arthur said. “So, let’s get started. What is your initial reaction to all you read yesterday?”

“Well,” Nigel replied, doing his best to sound authoritative and professional, “I agree with the Aurors that these individuals are connected. I noticed that every single incident took place between three and six o’clock in the morning, concentrated around the new moon or the half moon.”

“Why do you think that’s important?” asked Arthur, puzzled.

“It’s just a pattern. Since the _Prophet_ isn’t reporting on these attacks, they can’t merely be copycat attacks. That only happens when a killer gets a lot of media attention.”

“True,” Arthur replied.

“I also noticed that none of the attacks involved Unforgivables, which tells me these people aren’t associated with Death Eaters. And yet, the spells used all fall into the same category—lots of firepower, lots of blood, lots of death and destruction. This isn’t about sneaking about—this is about instilling fear and intimidation.”

Arthur took a few notes as Nigel spoke. “Another pattern. Any thoughts on your team?”

“Well, I was sort of thinking maybe we could include specific individuals, like you mentioned, and then representatives from specific departments, too.”

Arthur nodded. “Good idea. Which departments do you want involved?”

“Actually, I thought perhaps you could make that decision. You’re the Ministry expert.”

“I can advise you, but the decision is yours. Based on what you read, what sort of help do you think you’ll need?”

Nigel riffled through his notes for a moment, trying to delay any serious choice. Secretly, he hoped that Arthur would pipe up with a suggestion. But Arthur remained quiet, waiting for Nigel to say the word. “Well, obviously we’d need Aurors, and someone who can do a bit of spying. Do Aurors do that?”

“Some,” Arthur replied, jotting a few things down. “Law Enforcement does, too, depending on what’s needed and who needs it. There are others who spy.”

“So then we’ll need someone from Law Enforcement on the team, right?”

“I think that’s an excellent idea.” Arthur jotted something down again. “What else?”

Nigel pondered. “I read somewhere in the notes that Taylor spent time abroad. That must be where he learned all those languages. So maybe we should include the Department of International Magical Cooperation?”

Arthur smiled brightly and jotted more notes down. “Brilliant, Nigel. I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

“And what about someone like your Bill? Someone who’s experienced with charm-breaking? Could Gringott’s spare him?”

Arthur beamed. “I’ll get in touch with Bill today, see what he can do for you.”

“For us, you mean. Mightn’t the Magical Reversal Squad be able to add some wisdom to the team?” Nigel asked, now feeling a bit more confident. “And of course we need the Wizengamot.”

“Naturally. These people will need to be properly prosecuted. So that’s five departments.”

“Is that enough?” Nigel asked, now feeling less confident.

“What do you think?”

Nigel frowned. “Isn’t your job to tell me what to do?”

Arthur chuckled. “Come on, Nigel, you’re doing just fine. You’ve made some brilliant suggestions.”

Nigel sighed. “Alright. Um, well, how about the people that regulate the Floo Network?”

“Another brilliant idea, Nigel,” Arthur said, beaming again.

“What about the Department of Mysteries?”

Arthur frowned. “Bad idea. Well, not exactly. Actually, it’s a very good idea, but I know for a fact that they won’t participate. They keep to themselves and their own work. What made you think of them?”

“They sort of…know things, you know?”

Arthur nodded. “It just so happens that I am acquainted with an Unspeakable. Perhaps I can draw some wisdom from him, maybe even get him to participate. Actually, now that I think on it, that’s actually an excellent idea.”

“That would be great. Oh yeah, and I’d like to get some input from an Obliviator, too, someone who’s a real expert in Memory Charms.”

“Perfect! See, you know exactly what you’re doing!”

“Do you suppose Severus would participate? He’s the best Potions master I know.”

“Better than you?” Arthur asked with a wink.

“He knows all the different ways Potions are used, you know, he really understands them in ways I don’t. I just know how to brew them. I’m just a technician.”

“I’ll have to see if he’s available, now that he’s back at Hogwarts. I’m sure Minerva can spare him a little.”

The luncheon meeting, much to Nigel’s surprise, took place at the long conference table in his office. Twenty people, most of whom he didn’t know, plus the Minister, Shaklebolt and Arthur, gathered around the table with Nigel, eating chicken cordon bleu, endive salad and chilled, elf-made white wine. Nigel stuck with lemonade, unsure of how wine would affect him. He figured getting tight at his first big meeting was not a good move.

The other Ministry officials treated Nigel with a variety of reactions. A few—three to be exact—gave Nigel a modicum of respect, none of which Nigel actually expected but which he greatly appreciated. But the vast majority treated him with a mixture of mild scorn and arrogance. Nigel found he couldn’t entirely blame them, especially after his exchanges with Hermione and Arthur that morning. All the same, he knew very well that he had to conduct himself with the utmost professionalism and maturity. He had to be strong and authoritative if anyone was to take him seriously. The last thing Nigel wanted was for this new menace to remain at liberty because of office politics and jealous feelings at the Ministry.

Thankfully, the Minister was completely supportive of Nigel throughout the meeting, often deferring to Nigel’s judgement on many important issues. For example, when Nigel mentioned the Department of Mysteries’ reluctance to participate on this team, Scrimgeour assured him that someone from the office would be present at the next meeting. Arthur suppressed a smirk.

By the end of the meeting, it was decided that undercover agents would take two weeks to gather the most current information on Taylor and his organisation so that the team could coordinate an action plan. In the meantime, Nigel decided to take advantage of his Slytherin connections and do some investigating himself, starting with his old friend, Draco Malfoy, as well as with his cousin, Severus Snape. He figured that between the two of them, more information could possibly come to light.

* * * * *

Lunch with Hermione the following day was like a breath of fresh air to Nigel. After two and a half days of work on this intense situation, Nigel was starting to feel the pressure weighing him down. The sense of dread he felt was odd to Nigel. Surely, faced with all the dangers of the Dark Lord, he should have been somewhat used to this sort of thing. But now, things were different. He was no longer a student, safely ensconced in the confines of Hogwarts. Like everyone else, Nigel had been thrust out there into the working world, the real world, where there was no Snape or McGonagall to advise and protect him. It was all up to him.

At lunch at a nearby muggle bistro, Nigel thoroughly enjoyed listening to Hermione’s recounting of the events at her Ministry Orientation. She went on about all the departments, the people, the funny looking witches and wizards she met, the honking voice of her supervisor that reminded her of a salesman at Flourish and Blott’s. But then, she asked the question Nigel didn’t want to answer:

“So what’s going on with you and Lucy?”

“I’m just really confused about her,” Nigel replied. He picked at his chicken pesto sandwich. “Am I being insensitive?”

“She can’t force you to leave the wizarding world,” Hermione declared. “It’s not so simple.”

“I have no intention of leaving. It’s just…I really love her, but then this keeps coming up as an issue. I don’t get it. Her aunt is a witch, so this shouldn’t be anything new to her.”

Hermione looked alarmed. “You can’t let that get in the way of your mission, Nigel. That would be a disaster for all of us!”

“I tried to express that to her, but I guess I wasn’t clear enough.” Nigel sipped his lemonade. “I’ll be honest, Hermione. I’m just afraid that she’s going to make me choose between her and the wizarding world.”

“But she must know how vital you are.”

“I don’t think she does. To her, I’m a boy just out of school.” Nigel frowned. “Actually, to a lot of people around here, I’m just a boy. I can’t argue against that, Hermione, I mean, it’s true. I’m barely eighteen and look at me! This just isn’t right! I could feel that in your reaction to me yesterday! You were right—I should be with you and Ron and Harry in Orientation, along with the other newbies.”

Hermione’s face fell. “I shouldn’t have told you about Mrs. Weasley.”

“No, I need to hear it, actually. I have to be realistic about my situation. I admit it’s not exactly conventional. It’s just frustrating when I can’t get people to understand.”

Hermione patted his hand. “Don’t lose heart, Nigel. We need you. You have a power no one else in the wizarding world has.”

“It makes me wish Dumbledore was still alive, to tell you the truth. He could tell me how to handle all this.”

“You’re going to be fine, Nigel.”

Nigel scowled. “You sound like Arthur!”

“He’s very clever. And very insightful.”

Nigel shook his head skeptically. “I don’t know why I’m acting like this, Hermione. This job is so new and the situation is so bad and…” He broke off, too upset to go on. He took a bite of his sandwich and tried to think of how to change the subject. “So what’s next in your Orientation?”

“Just one more day. We’ll be learning about the Wizengamot. We took a tour of the Ministry yesterday—I suppose you did, too.”

“Back in June.”

Hermione suppressed a scowl. “Actually, it was Percy who showed us around, which Ron found hilarious. He kept imitating Percy behind his back, which drove me mad after a while, and of course Harry did nothing to stop him. We’ve been going over all the departments of the Ministry, you know, what they do, how they communicate with each other. The infrastructure of the entire Ministry of Magic.”

That made Nigel sit up and think. “Say, Hermione,” he said, thinking hard, “how much longer do you have to be in Orientation?”

“We’re done tomorrow. Friday, I get to work in Muggle Relations.”

Nigel paused, wondering. “I’m just thinking that you might be able to help me out on this situation I’m dealing with. See, I have to put together a multi-departmental team to handle a rather nasty situation, and since you know so much…”

Hermione laughed. “I’m brand new! I don’t know anything!”

“But you’re a quick study, Hermione, and you remember everything! I’m going to recommend you to the Minister to be on our team. End of argument.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I didn’t join the Ministry to battle dark wizards, Nigel.”

“But Hermione, this is an emergency!” Nigel said. “This bloke we’re investigating is almost as bad as the Dark Lord!”

“I doubt that the Minister will take on another eighteen year-old.”

“He will if I request it.” Nigel paused. “That sounded very arrogant, didn’t it?”

“Well, you are a Slytherin,” Hermione replied tartly. “Do you get to hand-pick your team?”

“Technically yes, but the problem is that I really don’t know anyone yet. We had this sort of preliminary meeting yesterday to sort out a few early details, but I still have to make my final choices so we can get rolling. I’ve been leaning a lot on Arthur’s experience here to choose the best people for me. So far, he’s done a great job. You’ll fit right in.”


	4. Nigel's Big Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be a great time at a party with his old friends from his muggle school. Who knew it would turn into such a complete and utter disaster? All he can hope is that the Minister won't find out...

An astonishing thought occurred to Nigel as he apparated home Friday evening after work, making him pause in the alleyway for a full three minutes. He had felt comforted talking to Hermione, just as if they were back at school again, chatting late into the night. What a blissful bubble those days at school had been, he thought. All he had to do was study and be responsible to no one other than himself. But that was no longer the case for Nigel, nor for any of his classmates. Every one of them had suddenly become answerable to witches and wizards who were far older than they and who did not necessarily have their best interests at heart.

It was a rude awakening, but one that gave him confidence. He looked back on his last couple of days with a twinge of shame—how could he have been such a childish complainer? Since when did he become so hypersensitive and thin-skinned? Nigel suddenly realised that if he were to be treated as an adult, he would have to be one—it had to be more than just appearances. Nigel couldn’t just show confidence to others. He had to possess it, too. Therefore, he took Arthur’s words of encouragement to heart and tried to relocate his strength.

His date with Lucy that night didn’t make things much easier. In fact, the entire evening became a complete disaster.

A school friend of Lucy’s, a petite redhead called Nadia, invited a huge group of classmates to a party at her house, among them, Nigel and Lucy. Nadia had always been known as The Rich Girl at school—her father was a very successful attorney, and her mother was an equally successful psychologist. Their sprawling mansion, which rested at the far edge of St. Luke, was by far the largest house in town, at least three times larger than Nigel’s or Lucy’s. At the party, champagne was served in crystal glasses, and hors d’oeuvres included foie gras and caviar.

And yet, it was still a typical raging party. Just like at any other party, kids danced and snogged and drank and smoked out. Nigel and Lucy danced a lot and drank a little. In truth, Nigel drank a little but Lucy drank far more than she should have. When she nearly toppled over on the dance floor, Nigel decided it was time for him to take her outside for some fresh air.

In the back garden, lounging around the sparkling swimming pool were several kids from Nigel’s muggle school. They all raised their glasses in greeting as Nigel and Lucy sat with them, dangling their feet in the cool water. Lucy became very quiet. Too quiet. Nigel worried, hoping it was just all the alcohol she drank that was making her so suddenly sullen.

“Hey, long time no see, Chaucer,” said Paul, a very tall, brown-haired boy.

“Lucy said you went to boarding school,” said Harry, a soft-spoken black boy. “Up north or something.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Nigel replied. “My cousin teaches there, and he wanted me to come to his school for a year.”

“That’s cool,” said Harry. “Say, how did you do on your exams? I got five A-levels. You?”

“I passed all my exams,” Nigel replied calmly, careful not to say he got all O’s—he didn’t want to explain. He hoped Harry and Paul wouldn’t want too many details.

“Which did you take?” Paul asked.

“The usual ones,” Nigel said.

Lucy snorted. “Yeah, right,” she grumbled. Nigel threw her a warning look. He desperately wanted to perform a silencing charm on her just then, but he resisted the urge. “Since when is Potions a usual A-level exam?”

“Very funny, Lucy,” Nigel said, trying to laugh it off. “It’s called Chemistry.”

“Oh! So they’re using muggle terminology now at Hogwarts?” she said. Her voice slurred just a little. “What do they call Divination? Advanced Psych?” She cackled.

Harry and Paul looked at her with mirthful skepticism. “How much champagne did you have, Lucy?” Paul asked jokingly.

“Way too much,” Nigel replied for her.

“Oh go on, Nigel,” she said. “Tell them what you are.” Her voice was snippy. Far too snippy.

They were joined, to Nigel’s dismay, by seven or eight others, all in various states of inebriation. Nadia sat next to Harry and nuzzled his ear. He kissed her lightly.

“Hey you two,” Paul said warningly, “Nigel is about to reveal his true self to us!”

Everyone laughed, including Nigel.

“Um, OK, I’m an official at the Ministry of Magic,” he confessed, a strong note of mirth in his voice.

Everyone laughed again.

“And I’m captain of a spaceship!” Nadia crowed.

The only person not laughing was Lucy. Indignant, she got unsteadily to her feet. Nigel sensed disaster.

“Good night,” she said coldly, walking back into the house. Nigel followed her inside.

“What is wrong with you? Are you mad, saying that stuff to them?” he said furiously, taking her by the arm to stop her from leaving the party.

Lucy pulled away from him roughly and glared at him. “I do not appreciate being mocked!” she hissed at him. “And I am not going to lie about you any more! I’m done with it!”

“Can we talk about this outside?” Nigel asked quietly, keenly aware of the curious stares they were drawing.

“No! We’ll talk about this here!” she snapped.

Paul and Harry came in from outside, cautiously approaching Nigel and Lucy.

“Are you guys OK?” Paul asked.

“We’re fine,” Nigel said.

“Tell them,” Lucy snarled. “Tell them what you are!”

“What’s going on, Nigel?” Paul asked.

“Nothing, mate, really,” Nigel replied. “Lucy, you’ve had too much to drink. It’s time…”

Lucy fumed. “So you’re going to stand here and continue to mock me, and you’re not going to tell them that you’re a wizard?”

Paul and Harry started to laugh, but stopped when they saw Nigel’s stunned expression.

“We’re going, Lucy. I’ll take you home,” Nigel said sternly. He reached out to take her by the arm, but again, she pulled away.

“You can go, but I’m staying,” she said harshly. “I’m going to tell everyone here all about you, wizard.”

Paul stepped in to try and referee the situation. “Listen, Lucy, maybe Nigel is right. You did have a lot to drink.”

“He is a wizard!” she exclaimed at the top of her voice, pointing at Nigel. “A wand-waving, broomstick flying, pointy hat wearing WIZARD! And that cousin of his murdered an old man! He does black magic!”

“He does not!” Nigel cried. But then he stopped, feeling several pairs of very curious and slightly horrified eyes on him.

“What does she mean, Nigel?” Nadia asked.

“Are you Wiccan?” Paul asked.

Suddenly, everyone talked at once.

“Wiccans worship the devil.”

“They do not! That’s voodoo!”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Nigel’s a devil-worshipper?”

“Are you learning voodoo at your school? What sort of place teaches voodoo?”

“Is that what your school was? Were you in a cult or something?”

“Nigel’s in a cult?”

“Don’t they sacrifice virgins?”

A laugh. “Well then you won’t have to worry, Philippa.”

Another laugh.

Nigel wished he knew how to do memory charms just then. He wished Kingsley Shaklebolt would apparate in to the party and Obliviate everyone. But that was impossible. He sighed. “I’m not a Wiccan, OK? And I don’t sacrifice anything. And I certainly do not practice voodoo!”

“But you’re a wizard?”

“Show them,” Lucy demanded. “Show them what you can do! Disapparate or make something move or something! He can do it, you know. I’ve seen him, lots of times! All summer long he did all sorts of magic stuff.”

“Card tricks?” someone joked. Everyone laughed.

Nigel tried to put a protective arm around Lucy, but again, she pulled away from him. She still wavered on her feet.

“Lucy, I am not going to show anyone anything. There is nothing to see, OK?”

She glared at him furiously. “You are a right bastard and a manipulative prick,” she snarled. “I never want to see you again.”

“You’re being ridiculous, Lucy!” he yelled, his temper rising. “What is going on with you tonight?”

And then it happened. He couldn’t control himself. All Nigel did was clench his fists at his sides and BAM! Every door in the house slammed shut, making such a crash that all the partygoers stopped dead in their tracks, looking at a shocked and mortified Nigel with a combination of fear and confusion. Nigel relaxed his hands and took a deep breath, trying to regain control of his emotions.

“What the hell was that?” Paul said incredulously. “What did you do, Nigel?”

“Look, Nigel, I think you’d better go,” Nadia said apologetically. “We’ll take care of Lucy and get her home.”

Nigel couldn’t believe this situation. All he could do was stand there stupidly while the entire crowd at the party looked on with greedy curiosity. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do to change what had just happened. He nodded his head, scowling, and quickly left. He stood on the pavement for a moment, trying to catch his breath and clear his head.

Nigel knew very the gravity of what had just occurred, and he knew something would have to be done quickly. He found a dark alleyway and disapparated to Hogsmeade, making his way to the Three Broomsticks, where he could sit, have a firewhiskey and think about what to do about the potential disaster he had just created. It was bad enough that his girlfriend had just broken up with him again and exposed him as a wizard. He should have contained his anger and frustration. He shouldn’t have performed magic. Nigel was in serious trouble, and only a week into his first job. What would the Minister say? And worse, what would Severus Snape say?

The Three Broomsticks was packed with witches and wizards that night, to Nigel’s dismay. He had hoped for a quiet space and a warming drink. He saw Hagrid at the bar—how could you miss Hagrid?—talking animatedly with an old wizard wearing an oversized orange turban. In the corner, he saw Remus Lupin at a table with Tonks…and Snape. Damn. His heart sank. Nigel knew Snape would kill him if he found out what Nigel had just done. He turned to leave, but then, Tonks happily waved him over. Nigel waved back and made his way through the thick crowd and sat down.

“It’s crazy in here!” he said loudly over all the clamour. Snape pushed over an unopened bottle of butterbeer, which Nigel gratefully accepted. “Thanks!” He drank half the bottle down in a gulp.

“Arthur Weasley sent me an owl the other day,” Snape said. “Something about a task force at the Ministry?”

“We need someone who really understands Potions,” Nigel replied, grateful that he could think about something other than his big mistake.

“Excuse me, but look who’s talking!” Snape rejoined. He clinked his glass against Nigel’s bottle and took a drink, taking a quick glance into Nigel’s eyes. Snape frowned.

“What’s new, Nige?” Tonks asked.

“Lucy broke up with me again,” Nigel said, a bit too nonchalantly.

Tonks gasped. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. When?”

“Just now, actually. Like a half hour ago.”

“Are you OK?” Remus asked.

“Not really.” He wondered if he should confess his mistake to them. He took another drink from his butterbeer bottle and motioned to Madame Rosmerta to bring him another.

“Why did she break up with you?” Tonks asked.

“It’s the same old shit she pulled last year,” Nigel replied bitterly. “She’s embarrassed about my being a wizard.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Remus said. “I thought her aunt was a witch.”

“She is, but you know, come to think on it, I’ve never actually met her,” Nigel confessed, his voice grave. “In fact, Lucy rarely even talks about her.” He thought for a moment. “Something else happened, something bad. Really bad. We were at a party just now and everything was going just fine, but then, well, we all had a bit to drink.” He took a deep breath. “She exposed me. Lucy outed me as a wizard.”

Snape groaned. “Gods, Nigel. How could she do a foolish thing like that?”

Nigel swallowed hard and continued. “It gets worse. I…I did magic in front of the muggles.”

They all sat there in silent shock, lost for how to respond to Nigel’s confession. Snape was the first to recover.

“Tell us exactly what you did,” he said, his anger barely controlled.

“Well, I don’t really know how it happened,” Nigel said, trying not to break down. “I got very angry when she outed me, and I clenched my fists and all of a sudden, all the doors in the house slammed shut! And then everyone freaked out because it confirmed what Lucy just said about me, and then I was asked to leave. I’m so sorry, Severus. I can’t believe I did such a stupid thing!”

Nigel looked at them all, desperately wanting someone to reply, with anger or sympathy or something…anything.

“And that was all?” Snape asked. “You didn’t tell them anything else?”

“I didn’t tell them anything!” Nigel said.

“What about Lucy?” Tonks asked. Her hands shook visibly.

“I don’t know,” Nigel replied. “After I left, I came straight here. I have no idea what she may have said. My only hope is that everyone was so drunk that no one will remember a thing tomorrow. Will I have to tell Rufus about this?”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “On a first-name basis with the Minister, are we? And only after a week? Let’s hope it won’t be your last, Nigel.”

“Hold on, Severus,” Remus said. “It might be advisable to let this play out. I suspect that most of them will think that Nigel is nothing more than an eccentric and let it go at that. I doubt we’re at risk of having our whole world exposed.”

“Can you be so sure?” Snape asked darkly.

“We should talk to the aunt,” Tonks said. “She should know that Lucy did this.”

“The problem isn’t what Lucy said, Nymphadora,” Snape said gruffly, “it’s what Nigel DID that’s the potential disaster!”

“And he wouldn’t have done it had she not said what she did,” Tonks retorted. “Nigel, Lucy isn’t afraid of you, is she?”

“I don’t think so,” Nigel said. “She’s embarrassed about me, like I said before. She wants me to be just a regular muggle.”

Snape snorted derisively. “You’re about as far from a regular muggle as I am! So you mean to tell me that after witnessing that entire celebration in May, that silly girl can’t see what an important person you are in the wizarding world? She expects you to step away from your extraordinary gifts in order to make her look smart? You’re better off without her.” He drained his whiskey glass and poured more from the bottle on the table.

“Severus, this is hardly the time,” Remus started.

“No, he’s right,” Nigel replied. “Well partly right, anyway. I think I was fooling myself to think that I could keep up the relationship when she clearly had issues about my being a wizard.”

Tonks looked scandalised. “So you’re not going to try and work it out with her?”

“No. I’m done. I can’t keep going through this with her. I’ve got enough stress at the Ministry as it is. Lucy deserves peace, and so do I.”

Tonks patted his shoulder and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. Nigel mourned.

* * * * *

Things didn’t look much brighter the next day, as Nigel took a morning walk through town. A young girl, maybe twelve or thirteen, took one look at Nigel and ran off in the opposite direction. A red-faced young man glared at him as he passed. Nigel had a very bad feeling about this, and wondered what else Lucy said at the party. Was this just his paranoid imagination, or had Lucy gone too far? He passed by Paul’s house, where his mother was working in the front garden. Nigel waved.

“Hi, Mrs. Boyd,” he called out. “Nice day!”

She gave him a horrified look and hurried inside the house, not returning his wave. Nigel stopped in his tracks, mystified and troubled, debating whether to knock on the door and talk to Paul. He decided it might be a good idea, but as he approached the gate to the Boyd house, Mr. Boyd tromped out…holding a gun. Nigel blanched. He had never expected such an extreme response from a man he had known for many years.

“Get away from here, you freak!” he shouted at Nigel.

Nigel threw up his hands and stepped back. “I just wanted to ask Paul a question, sir,” he said. “There’s no need for a gun!”

Several people came out of their houses and stopped in the street to watch what was going on, but no one tried to get Mr. Boyd to put his gun away. Nigel was on his own in this.

“The next time you try to talk to my son, I’ll kill you, you devil-worshipper!” Mr. Boyd growled. The crowd murmured, but again, no one told him to put the gun away. “You keep your voodoo bullshit away from this house!”

“Look, sir, whatever was said about me yesterday is just a rumour,” Nigel replied. He knew he could have vanished the gun with the slightest move of his hand, but resisted the urge, not wanting to scare Mr. Boyd even further. “There is no need for violence!”

Mr. Boyd raised the gun and pointed it directly at Nigel’s heart. Someone in the crowd gasped, but still, no one said a word to Mr. Boyd. Nigel’s instinct was to use defencive magic, but again, he resisted. He didn’t want to make an even bigger mistake by using magic against a muggle, even if the muggle was pointing a gun at him. And then, Nigel had a thought—he opened his hand, palm up, and wiggled his pinky finger six times. Nigel then took a step toward the gate.

“Dad!” Paul shouted, hurrying out of the house and down the front path. “What the hell are you doing? Nigel is my friend!”

“You told me he’s a Satan worshipper and a wizard!” Mr. Boyd shot back.

“He’s harmless, Dad!” Paul retorted. “He didn’t hurt anyone at the party, just slammed a few doors! Put that thing away!”

“What did Lucy tell you about me last night?” Nigel demanded. “What did she say?”

Paul stormed past his father, embarrassed by the spectacle. He took Nigel by the arm and led him down the street where they could be alone. The two friends walked for quite some time, neither of them saying a word until they had reached the edge of town.

“She told us a lot of wild stories about dark lords and magical battles, but to be honest, Nigel, I don’t think anyone believed her,” Paul explained. “I mean, most of us were drunk off our arses, including Lucy. You were about the soberest person there!”

“Then why is everyone freaking out about me today? Why did your father point fucking GUN at me?” Nigel asked, perplexed and offended about what had just occurred.

Paul blushed. “That was my fault.” He sighed. “I got home pretty late last night, and I was still drunk. My parents were still up, waiting for me. I told them you were a voodoo practitioner and you had put a spell on me to make me drunk.”

Nigel scowled. “Thanks a lot, man.”

“I couldn’t believe they actually believed me! But I guess when I threw in the details about the doors, and then when Nadia’s mother and Harry’s mother called mine this morning, it sort of confirmed what I had told them last night.”

“Unbelievable,” Nigel said. “They really think I’m some cult member or something?”

“What exactly was that you did last night, Nigel?” Paul asked. “With the doors and all?”

This was a tough question to answer. If he explained it, it would confirm what Lucy had said. On the other hand, he didn’t want to lie. So… “I don’t exactly know, to tell you the truth. That’s never happened before,” Nigel replied. He knew he was pushing the truth, but he wasn’t exactly lying either. It would have to do.

That afternoon, Nigel got together with Jimmy and Clive at McDougal’s. This was their last weekend in St. Luke before they had to go away to university, and Nigel wasn’t so sure he’d get to see much of them before they left. All they could talk about that afternoon was the party. Neither Jimmy nor Clive had gone—they had gone to the cinema with their girlfriends that night, and it was only that morning that they heard the wild stories of what had gone on at Nadia’s drunkfest.

“I can’t believe Paul’s dad held a GUN on you!” Clive exclaimed. “A GUN? What the hell was he playing at? He knows you! We’ve all been pals for years!”

“He wouldn’t really kill you, would he?” Jimmy asked, very troubled.

“Well I’ll tell you one thing,” Nigel said very quietly. “I was ready to vanish the bullets, and even the gun if I had to. I was just grateful Paul showed up to knock some sense into the old man.”

“Are you going to talk to Lucy and straighten her out?” Jimmy asked.

“Why should I?” Nigel snapped.

“She loves you,” Jimmy said.

“I doubt that,” Nigel retorted.

“You don’t mean that,” Jimmy said.

“Then why can’t she accept me for what I am? She feels like she has to lie about me and hide!” And then, something occurred to Nigel. “What about you guys? You know about me, I mean, do you feel like you have to sort of fudge the details about me?”

Clive laughed. “You’re presuming everyone asks about you, mate!” But then his face softened. He leaned forward. “Listen, Nigel, your secret is very safe with me. I would never betray you to anyone, drunk or sober. I swear it. I know that you play a vital role in your world, and I don’t want to interfere with that.”

“I echo that,” Jimmy piped up.

They all laughed. “I’m really going to miss you guys,” Nigel said.


	5. Murder at Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When Nigel and Arthur arrived at at Diagon Alley, Law Enforcement officers and Aurors were still gathering all the information. A large crowd had gathered to watch, and a reporter and photographer from The Daily Prophet were there, too, taking note of the killing, the victim and the ongoing inquiry. The killing had occurred not four steps beyond the Apothecary’s, right in the heart of the shopping district. Nigel looked sadly at the grim scene—the victim’s body still lay there, under a black cloak. He squatted down and lifted up the cloak to look at the victim’s face. She was middle aged, rather attractive, her dark brown eyes still wide open, even in death._

Did they know? Could they guess? Would some Auror use Legilimency on him and discover what he had done? Nigel shuddered at the thought. Maybe this whole thing was a big mistake. What were they thinking of by hiring an eighteen year-old? What did it accomplish other than to create controversy and cause trouble? Nigel was half tempted to go straight to Rufus Scrimgeour and tender his resignation, to avoid bringing scandal to the Ministry. Then he could do what Lucy wanted of him—to return to muggle society and start over. But that was unrealistic, totally unnecessary. He had to calm down, be reasonable, not go overboard with worry.

That was easier said than done.

When Nigel apparated to the Ministry Monday morning, he was careful to use Legilimency on nearly everyone he encountered as he made his way to his office. So far, nothing. No suspicions. That was a relief. Perhaps Remus had been right in allowing the whole incident to play out without raising the alarm. After all, it was just a small bit of magic he had done. On the other hand, that little bit of magic caused Mr. Boyd to react with incredible violence. Was it a fluke that only one man overreacted? Nigel wondered whether the fallout would stop there. He hoped.

On with it. Back to work.

When he reached his office, Arthur was already there, going over a set of blueprints laid out on the long conference table. His face tired and drawn, and Nigel knew he had been up already for several hours. Something bad must have happened. Nigel threw his stuff down and went to Arthur’s side to take a look. The blueprints were of Diagon Alley—every shop, every side street, every floor of the whole district.

“What’s all this?” Nigel asked.

“There was another killing last night,” Arthur replied after a momentary pause. “A witch, likely from the Continent. You and I will need to apparate to the crime scene as soon as possible.”

“Oh gods! When last night did it happen?” Nigel asked.

“About half past three. Coroners from St. Mungo’s will have to determine exactly how she died. The one thing they do know is that it wasn’t by an Unforgiveable. Shall we?”

When Nigel and Arthur arrived at at Diagon Alley, Law Enforcement officers and Aurors were still gathering all the information. A large crowd had gathered to watch, and a reporter and photographer from _The Daily Prophet_ were there, too, taking note of the killing, the victim and the ongoing inquiry. The killing had occurred not four steps beyond the Apothecary’s, right in the heart of the shopping district. Nigel looked sadly at the grim scene—the victim’s body still lay there, under a black cloak. He squatted down and lifted up the cloak to look at the victim’s face. She was middle aged, rather attractive, her dark brown eyes still wide open, even in death.

“Are there any signs of violence on her?” Nigel asked, noticing the lack of blood at the scene.

Dawlish, from the Auror Office, squatted next to Nigel. “We think she died either of poison or from a curse, sir,” he said.

Nigel nodded and looked more carefully at the victim. “Any identification, Dawlish?”

“No, sir, none. We’re pretty sure she’s of foreign extraction, though.”

“Why?”

“Some of the contents of her handbag are continental, sir, not English.”

Nigel nodded. He noticed that the victim’s left hand was tightly clenched. “Is she holding something in her hand or is that just a reaction to what was done to her?” he asked Dawlish.

Dawlish looked more carefully and shrugged. “I hadn’t noticed that, sir.” He gently opened the victim’s fingers as far as he could, and peered at her palm.

“What’s that?” Nigel asked, pointing at something blue. It looked like a pill.

Dawlish reached for it, but Nigel stopped him.

“Don’t touch it. It might be poison.” He pointed at the little blue pill and hovered it in the air until Dawlish could place it into a small bag.

Nigel stood up and approached Arthur, who was deep in conversation with two Aurors, plus Gawain Robards, head of the Auror Office. Robards waved Nigel over.

“Mr. Chaucer, this is Devlin, and this is Rathburn,” Robards said, introducing them to Nigel. Devlin was rather squat and round, with curly black hair and astonishingly beautiful pale blue eyes. Rathburn, on the other hand, stood well over six feet tall, with very long, very red hair and a spray of freckles over her delicate nose.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Chaucer,” Devlin said. She smiled politely. Rathburn echoed the sentiment. 

Nigel could only nod and shake both their hands. He found it strange that these adults were addressing him as “sir” and “Mr. Chaucer.” All his life, the only “Mr. Chaucer” Nigel knew was his own father.

Nigel produced the bag with the blue pill inside. “Do any of you know what this might be?” he asked. They all looked inside the bag at the pill, careful not to touch it.

“I have no idea, sir,” Rathburn said.

“Nor do I,” Devlin said.

“I wonder if I should have Severus look at it,” Nigel wondered. “Look, Arthur, why don’t I apparate to Hogwarts and get him to have a look. I want to know why she was holding it, and if we can, I’d like to know where she might have gotten it.”

“And ask him whether she might have purchased this pill as is, or if it was made for her,” Rathburn offered. “That will tell you a lot. She may have made it herself.”

“Could it be some muggle concoction?” Nigel asked. He tried to think of any blue pills that muggles may have used, but he couldn’t think of any.

“I have no idea,” Rathburn replied. “But I seriously doubt it. Why would a witch possess a muggle potion?”

“True,” Nigel conceded. “On the other hand, we also have to wonder if she bought it or if it was given to her, or even if she took it from someone. Here’s what we need to do. You at the Auror Office need to find out precisely who this woman is and why she came to Diagon Alley, especially if she is of foreign extraction. Once we know that, we might know more about why she had this blue pill on her. You may want to get with someone from the Department of Mysteries to get at the core of what this pill might be. This may be an area of magic the Unspeakables have already studied and researched.”

“What if they won’t cooperate?” Devlin asked.

“They will if I tell them to,” Nigel replied coolly. Arthur raised a curious eyebrow.

“Why do you believe this pill is so important?” Arthur asked.

“Because it was in her hand when she died,” Nigel replied. “I’m going to assume she was either going to give it at someone or that she had just stolen it from someone. Had she bought it, wouldn’t she have placed it in her handbag before she left?”

“And of course,” Rathburn offered, “we have to wonder where she got it, if she bought it. Was it here at the Apothecary’s, or perhaps at Knockturn Alley?”

“Or did she meet up with someone?” Nigel added. “That’s another possibility. She may also have been pursued by her killer.”

“Or killers,” Devlin said.

After two more hours of careful investigating the scene, Arthur returned to the Ministry whilst Nigel apparated, as promised, to the gates of Hogwarts. He sent up red sparks from his wand so that someone would let him in. It suddenly occurred to Nigel as he waited that there might not be anyone there at all, considering that school didn’t start for at least two more weeks. He waited a bit longer. No one.

“Damn,” Nigel spat, frustrated. He took out a small piece of parchment and scribbled down a note on it:

_Severus,  
I’m at the gates, and I need to see you! Ministry emergency!_

_Nigel_

Nigel rolled up the parchment tightly and with an upward whoosh of his hand, sent the note flying into the open window of the Great Hall. He waited again. Finally, five full minutes later, a figure in graceful black robes emerged, making its way down the stone steps and toward the front gates. Nigel waved eagerly at his cousin as he approached, that is, until he noticed that Snape wasn’t smiling at all. In fact, he looked down right put out, as if Nigel had caught him in the midst of some crucial potion-making task.

Snape unlocked the gate with a hard tap of his wand.

“So, Ministry business, is it?” he muttered coldly.

Nigel blushed. “Well, not just that, Severus, I mean, I always like coming to see you.”

“Your position has made you quite formal, hasn’t it?”

Nigel hated it when Snape pulled this snide attitude. As much as he loved his cousin, Nigel sometimes wished that Snape wasn’t so supercilious and sneering. These were moments that tempted Nigel to perform a Jelly Legs jinx on him. But as always, he restrained himself. He knew deep down Snape’s high regard and affection for him, so out of respect, Nigel allowed him to have his way.

“Come on, Severus,” Nigel started. He couldn’t help but look entirely pathetic in that instant.

Snape winked at him. “Malfoy was right about you. You really are too serious. So what’s this Ministry business anyway?”

As they walked into the castle together, Nigel explained every detail of the killing, and in particular, the blue pill he carried with him, still in the bag. The moment Nigel entered the castle, he paused. This was the first time he had been back to Hogwarts in a while—it felt so strange to him. He felt at once nostalgic and wistful and even a little distant from the place. Though he had only attended Hogwarts for two years, Nigel felt as much connected to the school as any other student, and standing within its walls brought back a flood of memories.

“I miss it here,” he said, in spite of himself.

Snape gave him a wry glance. “Your imprint is still here, Chaucer, believe me.”

“There’s such a feeling of stability here, you know? Your whole day, your whole life, is planned out for you. All you have to do is show up for class.” Nigel sighed.

Snape shrugged. “Sure. And find Horcruxes, brew life-saving potions, run dangerous errands and battle dark wizards. Very stable.”

Nigel chuckled. “You’re in a good mood today.”

“That’s because this place is virtually empty. The little monsters don’t return for a while longer.”

Together, they descended to the dungeons, heading toward Snape’s office.

“So why did you decide to return?” Nigel asked. “I thought you’d prefer to enter the Department of Mysteries or something, study the magical energy of the universe and all.”

Snape snorted sardonically. “Don’t be ridiculous, Chaucer. Me, at the Ministry? Besides, what else was I supposed to do? Write my autobiography, I Was a Teenage Death Eater? How about Son of the Dark Lord? Touching, don’t you think?”

“I think you like teaching, Severus,” Nigel declared. “And I think you like those little monsters.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Your first statement may be accurate, Chaucer, but your second statement is pure tosh.”

In Snape’s dark and dreary office, they took a closer look at the blue pill. Snape placed it in a shallow stone basin and touched it with the tip of his wand, uttering something Nigel couldn’t make out. There was a flash of green light, a puff of white smoke, and the strong smell of sulfur. Nigel quickly moved to open the window, but Snape stopped him. He pulled out a glass phial and collected as much of the smoke as he could before it dissipated.

“If you end up feeling nauseated and itchy, let me know directly,” he said gravely. “I’ll need to give you an antidote. You’ll need to take both the pill and the smoke back to the Ministry for further analysis.”

“So you know what it is?”

Snape nodded. With a flick of his wand, he floated the pill into a glass jar and covered it tightly.

“Do not touch this pill, even with the smallest amount of skin. Keep it in the jar.”

“Was it the murder weapon?”

“You said she had no marks of violence on her?”

“Right.”

“When the coroner examines her body, she will undoubtedly discover extensive atrophy in the victim’s internal organs.”

“You mean her insides turned to stone?”

“Not stone, per se, but hard and immobile. She likely died in the space of a few minutes. This poison is one of the darkest concoctions known to wizardkind. You cannot brew it properly without placing a lethal curse on it. Its only purpose is to kill quickly but painfully. This is far worse than Avada Kedavra—at least that is painless.”

Nigel sat down and pondered. “So do we imagine she went to the Apothecary’s in order to find an antidote?”

“That would make sense. Of course the place was closed, but I assume she was desperate enough to break in and steal the antidote.”

“But she died before she got there.” Nigel thought some more. “But if she died in the space of a few minutes, that doesn’t explain why she was in Diagon Alley at that time of the morning.”

“True,” Snape replied. He pointed his wand at the basin. “Diffindo!” he said. The bowl fell to pieces. He pointed his wand again. “Evanesco!” The pieces vanished. “Nigel, have you mentioned your misstep to the Minister yet?”

“No. I decided to follow Remus’ advice for now. I don’t really care if my town thinks I’m a weirdo, just so long as they don’t find out about our world.”

“You’re playing a very dangerous game,” Snape warned.

“I know, but what else can I do?” Nigel shot back. “If I tell Rufus and then nothing really comes of it, then I wasted my breath and made him doubt my abilities.”

“Perhaps. Still, you would be foolish to set the incident aside.”

“I understand that, Severus,” Nigel replied, growing irritated. “I don’t need a lecture right now, OK?”

Snape grunted. “Maybe you do.”

* * * * *

Nigel didn’t get home that night until well after midnight. Tired and hungry from his long day, all Nigel wanted to do was make a tunafish sandwich and go to bed. But when he came in the back door of his house, he was met by a very anxious and irate mother and father. Mrs. Chaucer tapped her watch.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” she hissed.

“I’m sorry, Mum, really,” Nigel replied. “We’ve had a major incident at the Ministry today and…”

“Did it ever occur to you to ring us up?” she asked harshly.

“I’m sorry, Mum! There wasn’t time for me to break away! My mobile doesn’t work in the Ministry, and there was so much going on that I didn’t have a spare second! I didn’t even get any supper tonight!”

“We’ve been very worried about you, Nigel,” Mr. Chaucer lectured. “It’s important for you to keep in touch with us, especially because of the level of danger of your job!”

“Dad! I keep saying, I couldn’t help it! Look, I have a job, a real job! I know it’s in the magical world, but it’s not pretend! This is real!”

“We know that, honey,” Mrs. Chaucer said gently, noting the distress in Nigel’s voice. She gave him a motherly hug.

“A woman was killed last night,” Nigel explained. “We’ve been conducting an inquiry all day today, and then I had a meeting with the Minister and representatives from the Auror Office and the Wizengamot, plus with a bunch of other experts. By eight o’clock in the morning, it’s up to me to decide where to take this inquiry.”

“Why you?” Mr. Chaucer asked, a bit amazed. “They’re putting that level of responsibility on your shoulders?”

“That’s my job, Dad.” He looked down. “I’ll be careful, OK?”

Mrs. Chaucer steered Nigel toward the kitchen table and sat him down. “I’ll make you a bacon sandwich.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Lucy called today, just after dinner.”

Nigel frowned. “Did she want to apologise?”

“She wants to talk to you.”

“She wants to force me to be a muggle again,” Nigel said bitterly.

“You never had a problem with muggles before,” Mr. Chaucer replied stiffly. “Especially when you were one.”

“I don’t have a problem with muggles,” Nigel said defencively. “But I’m not one any more. You know that, Dad. I wish you all would accept that. It’s bad enough when Lucy tells the bloody world that I’m a wizard, but I really need you to support me!” His hands shook.

Mr. Chaucer reached across the table to pat Nigel’s arm. “We do support you, son.”

Nigel felt a surge of emotion rise up, which he struggled to suppress. “I’m scared, Dad. This thing is really bad. I don’t know what to do.”

“Is Arthur helping you?”

“I couldn’t get on without him. He’s a genius.”

“And he’s looking after you?”

“Very much.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Yeah, with my life.”

Mr. Chaucer sat back. “Then so do I.”

* * * * *

Nigel’s anxiety did not diminish when he arrived at the office the next morning at seven. Lack of sleep and a worsening stomachache clouded Nigel’s mind. In fact, he was so distressed that he nearly splinched himself when he apparated to the Ministry that morning. He knew all too keenly that the Minister and all those Aurors were waiting eagerly for Nigel’s plan. 

Problem: Nigel still had no plan.

When he walked into his office, Arthur was already there, writing furiously. Nigel flopped down into his very comfortable chair and sighed.

“You’re early,” he finally said.

“I’ve been here for an hour. Molly is beside herself.”

Nigel scowled. “I’m at a total loss, Arthur.”

Arthur frowned. He set down his quill and sat before Nigel’s desk. “You’re overwhelmed, aren’t you?”

Nigel nodded. “I really want to do a good job here and end this threat. I really do. I just keep thinking I’m out of my league in all this. I’m just a kid.”

Arthur gave him a kind, fatherly look. “You have tremendous instincts, Nigel. But I also think you have to be a bit cautious about how you use your power. That comment you made yesterday…”

Nigel winced. He knew exactly what Arthur meant. “Did I overplay my hand? I overplayed my hand.”

“Somewhat. Nigel, you need to forget about age and experience and politics and simply focus on the situation at hand. You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. You’ve already done that. I was very impressed with how you really thought through the details of the killing at Diagon Alley yesterday. You set aside your worries and really set your mind to the task. That’s what you need to do. Forget your age!”

Nigel cut across him. “How can I? I see the looks on people’s faces around here when I pass. The only reason I haven’t used Legilimency here is that I’m too afraid of what I’m going to see in their minds!”

“I know. It must be very awkward for you. You have faced adversity before, though, and you knew when to set aside appearances for the greater good. This is just such a situation, perhaps even more so. Don’t be afraid of your office. People legitimately count on you and trust you, just as they did last year when you helped bring down Lord Voldemort.”

Nigel smiled. “Arthur, I’m really glad you’re my assistant.”

“Then let’s discuss your plan of action.”

Over the next hour, Nigel, with liberal amounts of help and encouragement from Arthur, put together a plan of action to tackle the ongoing crisis. At the meeting with the Minister and his experts, Nigel was fairly ready.

“First of all,” he began, “we need to increase our efforts to gather intelligence about the perpetrators of these crimes. The goal is to find a pattern, a common bond. I think we need to look at all facets of these crimes, from the frequency and methods of these killings to the location, the time of day or night, and equally importantly, the identity of the victim.”

Robards raised his hand. “If I may, sir,” he said to Nigel. “We’ve learned more about the witch killed yesterday.”

“Tell us, Gawain,” the Minister replied.

“Her name is Glenda Babb, and she comes from Shrewesbury,” Robards began.

“I thought she was foreign,” Nigel said.

“No no, she’s English,” Robards responded. “However, the nature of her work has taken her all over the world. It turns out she was actually trained as a Ministry Hitwitch, but after a year on the job, she quit to seek her fortunes elsewhere.”

“So you mean she was a private Hitwitch?” Nigel asked.

“Precisely. More money doing it privately. More autonomy, too.”

“Then how did she get that pill?” Nigel asked. “Just touching it was what killed her, according to Professor Snape.”

“That much we don’t know as of yet, sir,” Robards replied. “We suspect, however, that she likely didn’t realise that the pill would kill her. She may have been lured into taking it.”

“So she was double-crossed?” Nigel asked.

“We suspect that a Death Eater might have done it,” Robards said. “He or she likely slipped it into her handbag, perhaps hours before. When she put her hand into her bag and pulled it out, the pill killed her.”

“Why? Professional jealousy?” Nigel asked.

“Actually, sir, yes,” Robards replied. “Or at least, territorial squabbles.”

“You mean, who gets to dominate the Dark Side?” Nigel quipped.

“Something like that.”

That didn’t sound good. Nigel began to wonder if his plan of attack was large enough. All he had so far was espionage. Still, at this point, they couldn’t do much more until they had more information. At the same time, if they waited for more information, more people were at risk of getting killed or injured. The Ministry had to act.


	6. The Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _After a solid month of careful investigation, a breakthrough came in the form of an eyewitness—a muggle eyewitness. The woman, Marjorie Smythe, 57, of Chelsea, had been sitting by her window one night, unable to sleep. She had been awakened by the sound of voices across the way, and when she looked outside, she saw the seven victims all chatting and laughing and making lots of noise. Mrs. Smythe was ready to shout at them to quieten down, when all of a sudden, she saw a beam of white light shoot upward, hitting the balcony, which disappeared. To her horror, all seven people fell to their deaths. Terrified by the sight, Mrs. Smythe telephoned the police and told them what she witnessed._

The pressure was on. Nigel was officially in command, not only of the inquiry into the murder of Glenda Babb, but of the effort to make sense of the rising threat against the wizarding world. By the end of the meeting, Nigel had dispatched teams of Aurors and Law Enforcement officials to connect the Babb incident with Geoffrey Taylor and his followers. In the meantime, he had others taking a closer look at Taylor himself, with the goal of locating him and bringing him in for interrogation. That seemed key.

By lunchtime that day, Nigel was exhausted. His mind was spinning from the intensity of the meeting and from all the planning and negotiating he had to do over the last four hours. This was nothing like what he had done before when he was at Hogwarts. The hardest thing for Nigel to get used to was all the politicking it took just to make one simple decision. Robards, for example, was all set to select his Aurors for the inquiry, but then, the Minister objected to three of them—a heated argument erupted, which was only quelled when Nigel managed to get them to collaborate on the selections.

Nigel sat in the lunchroom, picking at his chicken salad and crisps, not much interested in anything whatsoever, especially food. All that day he had tried to stop himself from thinking about Lucy and what she had done and what he had done, too, but it was no good. Nigel didn’t know whether he was angry with her for betraying his privacy, or grieving because she had rejected him once again. He used a high level of Occlumency to prevent anyone from invading his thoughts.

A thunk and a jingle brought Nigel out of his mournful reverie.

“A Knut for your thoughts,” Hermione said, setting down her things and sitting across from him. “You look positively worn out.”

“Long morning. Long week-end, actually.” He told a shocked Hermione all about the incident with Lucy.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said sympathetically. “She had no right exposing you though. So what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m moving on,” Nigel replied. “I’ve no other choice. And besides, she’ll be off to Cambridge soon, and she’s going to meet all sorts of muggle men. She’ll be just fine.”

“And you?” Hermione asked.

“I will be, too. I’ll just have to be a little more discreet next time, especially if she’s a muggle.”

Hermione smiled. “Say, maybe you’ll meet a nice witch at the wedding Saturday. Are you all ready?”

Nigel grinned. “I’m going to Twillfit and Tatting’s tomorrow for new dress robes. All I’ve got is work robes and a muggle suit.”

“You could wear the muggle suit.”

“Nah. This is a wizarding affair, and I want to dress the part.”

Hermione looked a little concerned. “Nigel, you’re not rejecting all things muggle, are you? I know you’re upset and all…”

“It’s not that, Hermione. Really. I need to do this for myself, for my own sense of…I don’t know…identity, I guess. How do you handle it, living in two discrete worlds? Don’t you get confused? What do you tell your muggle friends about your job?”

“That I’m in public relations,” she replied, taking a bite of her tofu chili.

“Don’t they wonder why you’re not at university?”

“I just tell them I wanted to get out into the world and work for a while, since I’ve been away at school for so long. You know, like a gap year.”

Nigel nodded. “Good answer. I don’t want to say anything about myself any more in my town, now that everyone thinks I’m some sort of weirdo.”

“Maybe you should move away for a while, maybe move to London or something. Say, why don’t you stay with Draco for a little while? He’s all alone in that big house down there in Wiltshire.”

“He’s out of the country right now, actually,” Nigel replied. “Doing the Grand Tour. He won’t be back until October. We’re planning to get together for Halloween and raise a little Slytherin hell.”

Hermione gave him a sly look. “Sounds dangerous. You know, you could always apparate to wherever he is. Offer to be a housesitter or something till he returns.”

Nigel thought for a moment. “I don’t know, Hermione. I can’t imagine my parents would be very keen on that idea.”

“You’re an adult! You don’t need their approval, and besides, you’re making good money. You could always get your own place, maybe a flat or something.”

“I’ll think on it,” Nigel said, now slightly more interested in his lunch. Actually, the chicken salad was pretty good. He washed it down with a gulp of mineral water. “Oh yeah, we had our big meeting today, and I still want you to be involved. You heard about the Glenda Babb murder, didn’t you?”

“It was all over the paper,” Hermione replied.

“I want you to work with me directly on this. You’re the cleverest person I know and I really need you.”

Hermione frowned. “I don’t know, Nigel. I told you before, I didn’t join the Ministry to battle dark wizards. I’ve done that. I’m really not interested.”

“I won’t force you, Hermione, I really won’t. But I need someone like you who can think through an issue without prejudice or politics. Arthur is the only other person I know at the Ministry who can do that. As great as he is, he’s not enough. We both need you.”

“You’re just as clever as I am, Nigel, and fifty times more powerful,” Hermione said.

“That’s not the point,” Nigel said dismissively. “Look, I just got out of a meeting with all these bureaucrats who all have it in for each other. The politics were so bloody thick in that meeting I thought I’d choke! You’re above all that bullshit, Hermione, if you’ll pardon my language, and that’s why I really need you. I’m just afraid that all this political bickering is going to interfere with what we need to do.”

“You quelled it last year, Nigel.”

“Yeah, but I’m not dealing with a bunch of snooty Slytherins this time. Please, Hermione. I’ll get on my knees if you want, make an ass out of myself.”

She nodded resignedly. “Alright, Nigel. You win.”

Nigel heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much, Hermione. I’ll have Arthur speak to your supervisor today.”

* * * * *

It was difficult for Nigel to find even five minutes for himself whenever he entered the Ministry building. The second he apparated to work, it seemed as though either Donna or another of the Minister’s secretaries or staffers were at his heels, shoving another very important parchment into his hands or giving him another piece of vitally crucial information to digest as he tried to walk to his own office.

After that tongue-lashing from his parents, Nigel made sure to reserve five minutes per day in which he could quickly step outside to ring them up. Most of the time, the conversation consisted of Nigel telling them he was OK and that he’d had enough to eat for lunch and he didn’t know how late he would be. As the Taylor crisis increased, Nigel’s hours had gotten later and later. Most days he never left the Ministry until well past eleven at night, and sometimes, not until one in the morning. He knew very well his parents hated the arrangement, but there wasn’t much he could do about it, except resign his post. 

But Nigel had no intention of resigning, especially after his hard work began to pay off in the middle of his second week of work. To everyone’s shock and pleasure and relief, new and very significant evidence came to light regarding the July murders of five wizards and two muggles. The balcony on which they had congregated was vanished, and all seven of them fell to their deaths. After a solid month of careful investigation, a breakthrough came in the form of an eyewitness—a muggle eyewitness.

The woman, Marjorie Smythe, 57, of Chelsea, had been sitting by her window one night, unable to sleep. She had been awakened by the sound of voices across the way, and when she looked outside, she saw the seven victims all chatting and laughing and making lots of noise. Mrs. Smythe was ready to shout at them to quieten down, when all of a sudden, she saw a beam of white light shoot upward, hitting the balcony, which disappeared. To her horror, all seven people fell to their deaths.

Terrified by the sight, Mrs. Smythe telephoned the police and told them what she witnessed. When she mentioned that the balcony had disappeared, they laughed her off and pursued their inquiry, but without success. The incident, including Mrs. Smythe’s seemingly ridiculous evidence, were written about in the _London Banner_ , which Nigel happened to read one afternoon during a rare break in his schedule. Nigel and Arthur went straight to Mrs. Smythe, who recounted the entire tale to them, not stopping to wonder why the both of them were dressed so strangely.

“Do you know the name Geoffrey Taylor, ma’am?” Nigel asked.

“You mean the man who owns these flats and those across the street?” she asked.

“I’m sorry,” Nigel said, aghast. “You said he owns this building?”

“And that across the street.”

“Do you know him, ma’am?” Nigel asked. “Have you ever met him or seen him?”

“He pops around once every so often,” she replied. “Mostly just to inspect the place, make sure it’s clean and in good repair. I met him a couple of times. Nice enough, rather formal. A bit odd.”

“Odd?” Arthur asked. “Odd how?”

She shrugged. “Just odd. I don’t know why I felt that way,” she admitted. “I just sort of got a funny feeling about him. I’m sort of psychic that way. I can sometimes tell things about people.”

“Did you get a bad feeling about him?” Nigel asked.

“Not bad. Just…odd.”

“Ma’am, did you know any of those people who got killed?” Nigel asked.

“No.”

“So would you necessarily know if they all shared the flat or if some were visiting the others?” Arthur asked.

Again, she shrugged. “Some of them dressed like you two, in those sort of robes. I never made a fuss about it, I mean, I don’t care what a person wears as long as he’s got a good heart, but I know that some people thought they were a bit strange.”

“How long did they live there?” Arthur asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe a few months. I’d see them every so often when I sat by the window, or when I did my shopping. But I never met any of them.”

“Ma’am, could you describe them, I mean, the ones who dressed like Mr. Weasley and myself?”

Mrs. Smythe wasted no time in giving them an exhaustive and intricately detailed description of each of the five wizards, from the colour of their hair to the colours of their robes.

Nigel and Arthur took this description back to the Ministry and submitted their findings to the Law Enforcement squad, who then investigated the evidence and came up with names. It turned out that the five wizards were tied to an organization called Malus.

“Then who killed them?” Nigel wondered.

“What’s Malus?” Hermione asked. She, Nigel, Arthur and Shaklebolt sat around the small table in Nigel’s office, sharing tea and plotting their next move.

“Malus, as far as we know, is an organization of witches and wizards who resent the Ministry of Magic but who also were no friends of Lord Voldemort or the Death Eaters,” Shaklebolt. “We’ve monitored them for years, but they’ve never been violent.”

“Maybe that’s because the Dark Lord was more powerful,” Nigel offered. “Maybe they stayed nonviolent for a purpose not based on principle, but rather, on survival.”

“You may have a point there, Nigel,” Shaklebolt admitted.

“But then who killed them?” Hermione asked. “Surviving Death Eaters?”

“I don’t think so,” Nigel said.

“Nor do I,” Shaklebolt replied. “Those who belong to Malus don’t necessarily agree with each other on everything.”

“And if there was a sort of power grab from within their ranks…” Nigel started.

“Exactly,” Shaklebolt said. “Then they might be killing or attacking each other for the top job.”

“Where does Geoffrey Taylor fit in?” Hermione asked.

“That’s what we still need to figure out,” Shaklebolt said. “He may have ordered the killing.”

“Or done it,” Hermione offered.

“I doubt it did it himself somehow. But it could be that Taylor is sort of calling the shots, you know, directing all their activities for his higher purpose of domination of the wizarding world,” Nigel said. “He might not object to his members militating against each other. It keeps him powerful as a purist. Divide and conquer, all for the ideal.”

“Wouldn’t that weaken the organisation?” Hermione asked. “Usually, organisations fall apart because of inner turmoil.”

“Not if they have a strong figurehead,” Arthur said.

“Exactly,” Nigel replied. “Look at the Death Eaters for example. Once their leader fell, they fell apart, too. They’re still around and causing some trouble, but relatively minor trouble. But if Taylor is directing Malus, and if he stays out of our hands, then the organisation will go on, especially if, as Kingsley says, it attracts disgruntled outsiders. He can position himself as a sort of all-knowing idol who will save them from the corruption of mainstream wizarding society and culture.”

Arthur frowned. “That means there could be any number of them. They could be anywhere, spinning their little plots, guided only by Taylor’s destructive principles.”

Hermione sat back in her chair. “It makes sense that Taylor would be the head of Malus. Based on his background and his personality, I could see where he would get caught up in all this outsider stuff. I mean, look at him. He was an average student, quiet, he never really distinguished himself in any way, never really stood out.”

“That describes half the people we knew at Hogwarts,” Nigel said.

“That’s what so bad about it,” Shaklebolt said. “If Malus appeals to people’s sense of disappointment and frustration, it likely has hundreds of adherents. That’s the lure of power.”

“They’ll protect him,” Nigel said, a little more hopelessly than he intended. “I think his power lies not in magic, as it did with the Dark Lord, but in his personality. I think he lives off the magic of other, more powerful wizards, who do his bidding based purely on the ideals he’s implanted in them.”

* * * * *

Getting away to Twillfit and Tattings was no easy task for Nigel. For the first time in many days, he felt like he was finally hitting his stride at the Ministry, that his job finally began to make sense. He liked the collaboration he shared with Arthur, Hermione and Shaklebolt, and felt as if they were finally getting somewhere, without politics. Thus, as he apparated to Diagon Alley that afternoon, his head was filled with new ideas and plans and potential ways in which to deal with Malus and with Geoffrey Taylor.

Buying dress robes was a new experience for Nigel. He hadn’t been at Hogwarts for the Yule Ball, so he never had need of dress robes until now. Draco had told him about Twillfit and Tattings, so Nigel was eager to see what they had. Draco’s taste in robes was always extremely elegant and stylish, and Nigel felt fully confident that he would find something perfect for the occasion.

The store did not disappoint. There were racks and racks of the most fashionable and sophisticated robes he had ever seen outside Malfoy Manor, all in rich silks and fine wool. The proprietor, a Mademoiselle Dominique, showed Nigel the very best she had in jewel colours of blue and green and burgundy. Nigel ended up with dress robes in blue, but he also selected the green and burgundy robes for everyday wear. He also chose a blue hat to go with the dress robes. Nigel shuddered at what this would all cost him. The hat alone was ten Galleons.

“That will be twenty Galleons, Monsieur Chaucer,” she purred in her very elegant French accent.

Nigel did the addition in his head. “That can’t be right. It must be…”

“Twenty Galleons, and not a Knut less.”

He knew she was giving him a major discount, but Nigel decided not to argue. He gave her the twenty and left with his purchases, at least glad she didn’t give them to him for free. It was one thing for Fred and George to do that, but he never expected it or welcomed it.

As he made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron for a quick snack before returning to the Ministry, Nigel spotted Parvati Patil in the afternoon crowd near Eylops, browsing the display of new and healthier owl treats.

“Parvati!” Nigel called. He waved to her.

Parvati broke into a wide smile and came toward him. “Hi, Nigel! Taking a rare break from the Ministry, I see.”

“Yeah, just doing some shopping for…” He paused. “Say, Parvati, what are you doing Saturday?”

“Not much. Padma and I are planning to get our own flat here in London, and we might take a look at some neighbourhoods.”

“You wouldn’t be interested in going to Bill Weasley’s wedding with me, would you?” he asked. “You know, sort of as my plus-one?”

“I thought they were already married,” she said.

“They postponed it because of all the trouble that went on,” Nigel explained.

“Sure, Nigel, I’ll go with you,” she said, after a quick moment. “Should I buy them a gift?”

“You can sign your name to mine if you want,” he said. “It’s up to you.”

“What happened to that muggle girlfriend of yours?” she wondered.

“Oh, we’re not together any more.”

She smirked. “On the rebound, are you?”

Nigel blushed. Before he could respond, she stopped him.

“I’m just taking the mickey out of you!” she crowed. “I’m actually very flattered you asked me! Really.”

“Good. Sorry if I sounded like a prat.”

“You didn’t.”

“Well, the wedding starts at half past ten, so why don’t I come for you an hour before? The wedding’s at Hogwarts, actually.”

“Oh! Well why don’t we meet up in Hogsmeade and then we can just walk? There’s no sense in you apparating all the way to my house.”

After a few minutes more of settling the details, both Nigel and Parvati were off, he back to the Ministry and she back to Eylops. Nigel vanished his purchases to his house before returning to the office, where a harried Hermione waited for him with terrible news.

“Another killing.”

Nigel’s heart sank. “Who?”

“Mrs. Smythe, that lady you talked to. Mr. Weasley’s beside himself about it.”

Nigel could feel his knees weaken a little. A million regrets assaulted his mind. If they hadn’t gone so openly to see her. Had they remembered to dress as muggles. Had they known the building was owned by Taylor. He had to be the one responsible. He must have ordered the killing. Nigel could think of no other possibility. He felt sick with guilt.

“When did it happen?” Nigel asked, quickly regaining his composure.

“She was found this morning in her flat. No known cause of death.”

“Are the muggle police still there?”

“It’s likely.”

“Good. Tell Arthur I’ll be back later.” 

With that, Nigel rushed out of the office and made his way to the Atrium, where he disapparated, landing in an alley behind some muggle clothing stores in Chelsea. He quickly ran inside and bought a pair of jeans and a black shirt, ignoring the sniggers and comments from the muggles in the shop. Nigel vanished his robes to his office, then, dressed as a muggle, made his way to the scene of the crime. Hermione was right—the police were still there, still examining the scene and collecting evidence. He wished he had Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. No such luck.

Nigel skulked about the corridor outside Mrs. Smythe’s flat, watching the muggle police conduct their inquiry. A Detective Inspector poked his head out, surveying Nigel with annoyance.

“This is a crime scene, boy. Move on,” he said dismissively.

“I heard she was killed,” Nigel said. “Is it true? About poor Mrs. Smythe?”

The D.I. stepped into the corridor and showed Nigel his warrant card. “You knew her?”

“Only a little,” Nigel confessed. “My friend and I were just talking to her a couple of days ago. I heard she was killed.”

“We don’t know that yet. No signs of violence on her.” 

The D.I. moved to take out a pen and paper so he could interview Nigel, but Nigel had other ideas. He fanned out his arms in a wide arc so that in a flash, everyone and everything around him froze completely. Even the D.I.’s watch had frozen in time. Nigel crept into the flat, and, seeing that her body was still lying on the floor by the window, went to her. Her right hand was tightly closed—Nigel waved his hand over hers once so that her fingers loosened. Just as he suspected, she clutched a little blue pill.

“Shit!” he swore under his breath. 

Nigel conjured a small jar and carefully floated the pill into it. Shutting the lid tightly, he went back to the D.I.. With another quick wave of his arms, he unfroze the scene. The D.I. blinked confusedly for a moment, then refocused his eyes on Nigel, who held the jar behind his back.

“I don’t know what I can tell you, sir,” he said. “I didn’t really know her at all. I hope you find her killer or whatever ended her life.”

“Thanks, kid,” the D.I. said. He handed Nigel his business card. “If you think of anything that might help us, just ring me at that number.”

Back at the Ministry, Nigel rushed to see Kingsley Shaklebolt, to whom he explained the entire scene. He also produced the pill, still safely in the jar.

“Nigel, do you know what a Pensieve is?” Shaklebolt asked.

“I’ve heard of it.”

“It’s used to store and preserve memories. Albus Dumbledore used his frequently, to clear his mind but not lose those precious and valuable memories. I’d like you to preserve the memory of what you witnessed at Mrs. Smythe’s flat. Both your visits there.” 

Shaklebolt pulled out his wand and showed Nigel the technique. Nigel watched with interest as Shaklebolt put his wand to his head and pulled out silvery threads of thought, which he then placed in a glass phial.

“Whenever I want to see this memory again, I place it in the Pensieve so I can relive it.”

Following Shaklebolt’s lead, Nigel did the same, taking care to be extremely detailed as he pulled the memories from his mind and placed them in two separate phials.

This could be it, Nigel thought. The lynchpin of the entire case. What lay ahead for him was still uncertain, but at least he felt that at last, things were starting to come together. This could be the breakthrough they had been waiting for.


	7. A Rare Day Away from the Jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It should have been a nice, calm day off, just a day to hang out in McDougal's and get a little work done. And then she had to come and spoil it all...

When Arthur Weasley asked Nigel if he could take Friday off in preparation for his son’s wedding, Nigel hardly knew what to say.

“Why are you asking me, Arthur?” he asked, too bewildered to answer properly.

“In light of the new evidence,” he said plainly, “I wanted to make sure you could handle things on your own.”

Nigel heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, yes, of course.”

Arthur winked. “You didn’t think I was asking permission, did you? After all, I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, uh, no, of course not, Arthur.” Nigel blushed. “Thank you for your consideration.”

Arthur grinned. “Say, why don’t you take a day off, too?”

Nigel sighed heavily, wishing he could. “No, I can’t, unfortunately. There’s so much to do right now, so much evidence to analyse.”

“Take it home with you. See your parents a bit. See your friends before they leave for university Sunday.”

Nigel sighed. “Maybe you’re right.”

In fact, Nigel took the suggestion one step further, by leaving the office at the rare hour of six in the evening, though with a massive stack of parchments and documents stuffed into his briefcase. With congratulations to Arthur and a good-night wave to Donna, Nigel walked toward the Atrium to disapparate home. Within the tangle of witches and wizards all going home, Nigel spotted Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, both of whom looked worn out after a long day of training for their respective posts. When Harry saw Nigel, he grinned and waved eagerly. When Ron saw Nigel, however, he looked positively murderous. Nigel sensed trouble. Bracing himself, he approached both his old friends, trying not to look Ron directly in the eye.

“Harry! Ron!” Nigel said, trying to sound merry and casual. “Good to see you!”

Before Harry could return the greeting, Ron spoke up.

“So, I suppose you’re enjoying yourself as a self-satisfied big shot,” he snarled loudly. “How does it feel, Chaucer, ordering my dad around?”

“Nigel Chaucer does NOT order me around!” Arthur’s voice thundered from behind. He pushed Nigel roughly aside and grabbed Ron by the shoulders. “Ron, I am fed up with your attitude! I am nobody’s servant, whatever your mother might tell you! Is that perfectly clear?”

Ron avoided his father’s angry glare. He nodded glumly. A few witches and wizards couldn’t help looking on at the spectacle as they passed. Someone giggled, which made Ron turn beet red. Arthur maintained his grip on Ron’s shoulders.

“Now you will apologise, to me and to Nigel,” Arthur declared.

Harry and Nigel threw each other very uncomfortable glances. Nigel could feel Ron’s mortification keenly, and he wished he could vanish out of sight to spare Ron further embarrassment

“Arthur,” Nigel started, “he doesn’t…”

“Yes he does!” Arthur retorted. End of argument.

Ron gulped. “Sorry, Dad,” he said quietly. He gave Arthur a fleeting look in the eye before he glanced down again.

“And?”

“Sorry…Nigel,” he said, his eyes resolutely directed at Nigel’s shoes.

“It’s OK, mate, really,” Nigel said.

Arthur let go of Ron’s shoulders and put a comforting hand on his arm. “Come on, son, let’s go home.” Together, they disapparated to the Burrow, leaving Nigel and Harry alone to goggle at the sight.

“That was ugly,” Harry said.

Nigel shook his head. “I can’t blame Ron, really. I mean, Arthur’s great, but I don’t think he really gets how awkward this whole setup is. I think he’s just excited to be in this post.”

“You don’t really order him around, do you?” Harry asked.

“Is that what people say?”

“Like you said, it’s an awkward setup. You know how it is, gossip and all. If you think this place is any different from Hogwarts, you’re mistaken.” Harry clapped him on the back. “Come on, Nige, I’ll buy you a firewhiskey at the Leaky Cauldron.”

“Are trainee Aurors allowed to drink on duty?” Nigel asked tartly.

“Who’s on duty?”

The Leaky Cauldron was about half-full, mostly with older people having a nice bowl of pea soup and Tom’s famous crusty bread. Nigel ordered a firewhiskey and excused himself for a moment.

“Gotta ring up my parents. I don’t think my mobile will work in here.” He took it out of his pocket and looked at the display. No service. Outside, he had much better luck. His mother answered the phone. “Hey, Mum, it’s me,” he said.

“How’s it going, honey?” she asked.

“Believe it or not, I left the office about twenty minutes ago. Harry and I are just hanging out for a short while, and then I’ll be home.”

“Sounds good. I’m glad you called. Lucy came by. You know she leaves Sunday for school.”

“I know, Mum,” Nigel said impatiently. “I don’t want to see her. It’s just too…awkward. Can we talk about this later?”

“Sure, sweetie,” she said. “You and Harry have a nice time, OK?”

By the time he returned, his drink had arrived, but they were also joined by Hermione. Apparently, Harry had just finished telling her about the dressing-down Ron received from his father in the Atrium.

“So, Nigel, I hear you have a date for Saturday,” Hermione said.

Nigel couldn’t believe it. How could Hermione already know? “How did you find out?”

“Well, a friend of Parvati’s at _The Daily Prophet_ told Hannah Abbot, who told Seamus Finnegan over in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and he told Justin Finch-Fletchley, who works with me in Muggle Relations, and he told me today during my afternoon break, over tea.”

Nigel could only goggle at her, lost for words. Harry laughed and rolled his eyes. “I mean, it’s no big deal or anything, I mean, we’re just friends.”

Hermione grinned. “Does she know that?”

Both Nigel and Harry groaned.

“Come on, Hermione!” Harry cried. “He just asked her to a wedding! That’s not exactly the most romantic date in the world.”

“Not for the guests, anyway,” Nigel said. They laughed. “Come on, Hermione, she can’t possibly think it’s more than just a date. I barely know her! I haven’t seen her since we left school!”

Hermione giggled. “She’ll think you’ve been pining for her all this time.”

“OK, really,” Nigel said flatly. “You’re scaring me.”

Harry laughed.

“How about you, Harry?” Nigel asked. “Are you taking Ginny?”

“Nope. Hermione here’s my plus one.”

“Why aren’t you going with Ron?” Nigel asked.

“It’s a long story,” she said dismissively.

“This doesn’t have to do with me, does it?” Nigel asked cautiously. He didn’t want to know the reply.

“It has to do with a lot of things.”

“When did you fight?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Come on, Nigel, let’s not talk about it.”

Reluctantly, Nigel let it go, though he was convinced that he was the source of tension. It didn’t take Legilimency for him to figure that out. By the time he arrived home that night, his mind was still burdened by the situation, so much so that he didn’t notice that he wasn’t alone in the alley behind his house. Still dressed in his robes, Nigel made his way to his back garden, unaware that the next-door neighbour was staring openly at him from her car, which she nearly crashed into the privet when she saw him appear out of thin air.

Mr. and Mrs. Chaucer were just finishing supper when Nigel came into the house.

“Hi!” he called. “I’m home!” He set down his briefcase and went to the kitchen, following the scent of shepherd’s pie. Kissing his mother and father on the cheek, he took a plate down from the cabinet and served himself some pie. “Smells good,” he said, fumbling through the drawer for a fork. He joined them at the table.

“So why are you home so early?” Mr. Chaucer asked. “I can’t imagine you caught all those killers.”

“Not yet, Dad,” Nigel said, taking a huge bite of pie. “This is really good, Mum. We had a major breakthrough today actually.”

“Well that’s good,” Mr. Chaucer replied.

“But someone else got killed,” Nigel said. “This time it was a muggle lady, someone Arthur and I interviewed the other day. I feel awful about it.”

“Not much of a breakthrough,” he grumbled.

“She was able to give us a lot of really good information, actually. I just wish she didn’t have to die for it.”

“And you know she was killed by a wizard?” Mrs. Chaucer asked. “Couldn’t a muggle have killed her? Maybe a burglar?”

“No. She died the same way that witch died earlier this week. This is definitely a magical killing.”

“Nigel, honey,” Mrs. Chaucer said, “you really need to talk to Lucy. She’s very upset about what happened at that party. I think she wants to apologise.”

Nigel snorted. “I doubt it. I just can’t have that argument right now. Too much is going on.”

“You’re going to have to face her eventually, son,” Mr. Chaucer pointed out.

“I know. But not today. Oh! I got a date for Saturday! The Weasley wedding, you know. I met this girl at Diagon Alley the other day, a friend from Hogwarts.”

“I thought you’d go with Donna,” Mrs. Chaucer quipped.

Nigel blushed. “I think she’s got someone, actually. Plus, I don’t know if it’s good to date someone you have to see at work every day.”

Mr. Chaucer grinned. “Your mother and I managed.”

That was a shock. “You never told me that!” he said, stunned by his father’s confession. “Actually, that’s sort of sweet.”

Nigel took that sweet feeling with him, wanting to use it to rid himself of the anxiety and awkwardness he still felt at the office. As he sat by his bedroom window, looking out at Hogwarts in the near distance, he pondered his parents’ courtship, imagining that they had to hide their relationship, for fear of being sacked by their boss. The thought made him smile wistfully.

His eyes traveled downward from Hogwarts to a woman standing across the street, looking directly at him. He recognised his next-door neighbour immediately, but he didn’t recognise the odd expression on her face. Nigel waved to her, but instead of waving back, she streaked down the street, into the safety of her house. Nigel worried.

His worries stayed with him the next morning, but he decided not to let them keep him down. He decided to do something he hadn’t done in a very long time—take a pile of work with him and hang out all day at McDougal’s. Nigel sat in his favourite booth, ate his favourite lunch—a ham and swiss burger, chips slathered in sauce, and a large root beer—and went to work on all the new evidence he had gathered during the week. As grim as his reading was, Nigel couldn’t help but feel good to have a rare day away from the jungle. He sat and ate and read and took more notes—with a quill.

Nigel had grown so used to using quill and ink that he never thought to use a pen and muggle paper. But that wasn’t the only thing that drew stares from a few of the patrons at McDougal’s. They wondered at the old-fashioned papers he read, and at the scrolls of what looked like parchment. Yet no one said a word to him or bothered to ask him any questions. They whispered amongst themselves and then they left. And still, Nigel remained absorbed in his work.

After an hour or so, the bell on the door jingled as it opened, still not drawing Nigel’s attention. What did distract him, however, was the familiar scent of lilacs. Nigel looked up to see a very irate Lucy sitting opposite him.

“Hi,” Nigel said. “I heard you telephoned.”

“And you haven’t called me back.”

“No, I haven’t.” Nigel tried to sound businesslike. “What do you want?”

“To talk to you.”

Nigel set down his quill, forcing himself to look her in the eye. “The only thing I want to hear from you is an apology. How you could expose me like that is…”

“Save your words, Nigel,” she snapped. “You told my aunt, didn’t you?”

“I told Remus and Nymphadora, if you must know. They were the ones to inform your aunt of what you did.”

Lucy sighed. “Nobody believed me, Nigel. We were all drunk off our arses that night! It wasn’t a big deal!”

“Then why did Paul Boyd’s dad pull a bloody GUN on me the next day? Don’t you get it, Lucy? Everyone around here has spread your tale all over town, and now everyone thinks I’m some sort of demonic freak! Even the lady next door is staring at me like I’m some demon child!”

“But they don’t know about all that stuff you do, Nigel,” she whispered. “I swear!”

“That’s not what Paul told me.”

“Well you shouldn’t have slammed those doors!” she snapped.

“I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t pissed me off!” He could feel his temper rise again—Nigel took some deep breaths, not wanting to blow out all the windows in his anger.

“Well if you would only have talked over my suggestion…” she began.

“Your suggestion was an insult! Lucy, we’ve been through this all before, and I won’t go back!”

“Not even for me?”

“Don’t do this to me, Lucy,” Nigel whispered. “It’s not fair.” He could feel a sob rise, but he fought against it.

“I don’t want to lose you, Nigel,” she said, teary-eyed. “I love you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do!”

“You wouldn’t ask me to change like that if you really loved me. If you loved me, it wouldn’t matter what everyone else asked you about me. Look, I know you’re uncomfortable having to answer for me, especially now. You deserve someone you can be proud of, someone you don’t have to lie about, who lives fully in your world. I’m all wrong for you. Don’t you see that? If what I am didn’t matter to you, then we’d be fine, but since it does…well…there’s nothing I can do for you. I don’t want to be an embarrassment to you.”

As Nigel spoke, Lucy sniffled and wept rather more loudly than Nigel would have wanted. After a few minutes of this, a young man, someone Nigel recognised from school, approached, his pale face angry and affronted.

“Everything alright here, Lucy?” he asked gruffly.

Lucy dabbed her eyes. “I’m fine, Robbie,” she said tearfully.

“Is this freak bothering you?” Robbie asked her. Nigel had forgotten just how big and brutish Robbie was, a sort of muggle version of Gregory Goyle.

“No, he’s fine. We’re fine,” she said, trying to compose herself.

Robbie stuck a warning finger in Nigel’s face. “Listen, freak, I know all about you!” he growled. “If the slightest thing happens to Lucy, you’ll answer to me! Got it, pal?”

Nigel looked him in the eye. “Sure, Robbie. I hear you.”

Robbie frowned. “What are you looking at, freak? You giving me the evil eye?”

Nigel rolled his eyes and groaned. “Oh please, give me a bloody break.”

Robbie looked at everything on Nigel’s table—the quills, the ink bottles, the scrolls—“What is all this shit, freak? You some sort of fag or something, using a bloody quill and ink? You some sort of devil-worshipping Goth or something? I’ve heard some pretty bad shit about what you get up to at night, freak.”

“Piss off, Robbie,” Nigel said dangerously.

“What are you going to do, freak, put a spell on me? Turn me into a frog?” Robbie hissed.

“I’m warning you, Robbie,” Nigel said. “Piss off!”

That was it. Robbie grabbed Nigel by the lapels and yanked him out of the booth. Nigel knew what was about to happen a full two seconds before it did—and he let it happen for his own protection. Robbie drew back his arm, made a hard fist and punched Nigel right in the jaw, sending him straight to the cold tiled floor. Lucy screamed. Four other patrons came to the rescue and pulled Robbie off Nigel before he could hit him again.

A dazed and bleeding Nigel struggled to his feet.

“You OK, Nigel?” one patron asked.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Nigel replied. Someone handed him an ice cube wrapped in a cloth towel. Nigel pressed it to his cut lip which stung. His hands shook a little.

“You want a policeman, Nigel?” another asked.

“No,” Nigel replied. “Let him go. He’s just a stupid fucking prat not worth arresting.”

The other two patrons shoved Robbie out of the restaurant, while the first two stayed with Nigel.

“I’m fine, guys, really,” Nigel said dismissively. “Thanks for your help. Why don’t you take Lucy home? I’m sure she has many things to do today.”

It took a few minutes to stop the bleeding and to find excuses that would get rid of the concerned patrons, but finally, Nigel was alone again. But he couldn’t go back to his work now. He was too upset, too wound up. For the moment, the threat of Geoffrey Taylor ceased to be important as Nigel pined painfully for Lucy and for peace and especially for understanding. Maybe Hermione was right. Maybe it was time for Nigel to move out, move on, try living on his own for the first time. For now, however, he had a more pressing issue to resolve—getting rid of the fat lip Robbie had given him. Nigel couldn’t exactly show up at a wedding with a mangled face. He didn’t want to face the questions that would inevitably arise.

Nigel collected his things mournfully—he had hoped to get so much done that day—and took them home. To his relief, the house was empty, which meant he didn’t have to explain the bruised face to his mother. Nigel stowed his things in his room, and then quickly left, making his way to Hogwarts to visit his cousin.

Snape was more than a bit shocked by Nigel’s appearance.

“What the devil happened to you, Chaucer?” he asked as he opened the front gates to the school to admit Nigel. Nigel explained the incident at McDougal’s.

“You’ve got to move,” Snape said. He took Nigel to his office, where he healed the bruise in an instant.

“I can’t move, Severus,” Nigel insisted. “My parents couldn’t handle it.”

“This isn’t just about you,” he said. “The longer you stay, the more in danger you put the rest of us. I can’t believe you still haven’t told the Minister about what you did.”

“Nobody knows about the magical world, Severus. I swear. I could have fought Robbie with magic, but I didn’t. I let myself get hit in the face rather than use magic!”

“Why didn’t you hit him back?”

Nigel scowled. “You coming to the wedding tomorrow?” he asked, eager to change the subject.

“We’re being invaded by Weasleys, by Prewetts, by bloody French veela. Oh yes, and your friend, Draco Malfoy, is coming.”

That was a shock. “Draco? To a Weasley wedding?”

“He’s related to Molly. A distant cousin.”

“I didn’t know that,” Nigel said. He took a proffered cup of tea and sipped gingerly. “This is good tea.”

“It’s straight from China. I brought it back myself.”

“So, are you going to the wedding?” Nigel asked.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Snape replied coolly.

Nigel winked at him. “And who’s your date?”

“You presume I have a date, Chaucer?”

“You mean you don’t?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Nigel smirked. “Just tell me you’re not bringing Madame Pomfrey.”

Snape raised his eyebrows. “And what is the matter with Madame Pomfrey?”

“Nothing. She’s a genius. But she’s at least twenty years older than you, isn’t she?”

“She’s twelve years older, in fact, not twenty.”

“I’m bringing Parvati Patil.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “I am hardly interested in your sordid love life, Nigel. But I am glad you’re not bringing the muggle girl.”

Nigel suppressed his irritation at his cousin just then. “Well how could I? She can’t bloody see the place!”

“Not from the outside,” Snape corrected him.

“What?” Nigel exclaimed. “But muggles can’t see Hogwarts. Everyone knows that!”

“They can’t see it from the outside. If a witch or wizard leads them to the gates, they can see it.”

“Are you serious?”

“I brought a muggle in here once, about ten years ago. Naturally, I told no one she was a muggle.”

“She?” Nigel raised an eyebrow.

“She was a guest speaker for my potions class. Her son was a wizard, so she knew all about Hogwarts. It works the same way with the Leaky Cauldron. Muggles don’t see it right off, but if they’re led there by a witch or wizard, then they do. Hogwarts is protected against unwelcome muggle intrusion, but not against muggles who are invited and escorted here.”

“I had no idea! So I could bring my mum and dad here?”

“As long as they came with you, then yes.”

“Do you think I should bring them to the wedding? They’ve never been to something like that before.”

Snape poured out more tea. “I suppose, if you wish. Would they be interested?”

“I know Arthur would love to see them again.”

“How’s it working out with you and Weasley Senior?” Snape asked. “Have you had to hex his idiot son yet?”

Nigel blanched at the memory of the previous day. “Not quite. Arthur arrived just in time, I think. It’s weird, though. Every time I think I’m used to all that authority, something happens, and I’m a kid again.”

Snape made a face. “It’s only been two weeks, for goodness sake! Give yourself a chance to adjust! It won’t happen overnight. You do realise that, don’t you?”

Nigel sighed and sipped his tea. “I suppose. I guess it’s just because I was sort of thrown right into the centre of a maelstrom, you know? I feel like I’m supposed to be the Big Boss Man straight away.”

Snape nodded. “What more do you know about Taylor?”

Nigel suddenly thought of something. “I remember reading that he had younger brothers who were in Slytherin. Steven and Aaron Taylor. Do you remember either of them?”

“Steven was four years behind me, actually. Aaron was younger. I don’t remember him much, but Steven, I do remember. He was one of the most brilliant students in his year, and I remember that he was also a distinguished Quidditch player.”

“You don’t remember Aaron?”

“I think Aaron played Quidditch in his second year, along with his brother. I’m pretty sure. Their older brothers were also renowned students. They were extremely clever, reputedly received O’s in absolutely everything. True Ravenclaws.”

“And yet Geoffrey was sort of invisible. Do you have any memory of him? He can’t be much younger than you.”

Snape thought for a moment, trying to conjure up a memory. “All I can really see is dingy blond hair. I think he was more on the short side, too. I don’t remember anyone really talking about him much. Even for a Hufflepuff, he was mostly forgettable.”

As Nigel walked home later that afternoon, his mind now raced with new ideas, new strategies, entirely new directions. For the first time in a while, he began to feel re-energised and excited to take the inquiry to the next level.


	8. The Wedding of Bill Weasley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day to celebrate love! A day to be with friends, to dance and eat fine food and not think about the madness of work. On the other hand...

The Great Hall literally sparkled. Nigel had never seen anything as beautiful before in his life. The walls were draped in glittering white, and real faeries held up lush garlands of magnolias and white roses overhead. Gone were the house tables, replaced by rows and rows of white chairs—the staff table had vanished, as well, and in its place stood a stately marble table. On the table rested the Hogwarts Book of Shadows, something few students or staffers had ever seen. It was an elegant old tome, with gilded edges and bound in supple blue leather.

The crowd was an eclectic mix of witches, wizards and Veela, along with Madame Maxime, escorted by Hagrid, Firenze the Centaur, and two Goblins, Gringott’s friends of Bill’s. Everyone milled about the Great Hall before the wedding ritual began. Nigel and Parvati chatted with Harry and Hermione, along with many others. They all took instant note of the woman who accompanied Severus Snape, someone they had never seen before. She was quite tall, sophisticated and graceful, with chestnut brown hair that fell past her shoulders in soft curls. She was a curious choice for the enigmatic Professor. Before Nigel could go over to introduce himself and Parvati to her, he spotted Draco Malfoy.

The two old friends embraced warmly. Draco looked so different, so mature. His hair was short, almost shaven, but his face was tanned and healthy. He sported a Celtic knot tattoo on the back of his neck, which sparked Nigel’s interest.

“I thought you were in the middle of your Grand Tour!” Nigel said.

“I’m just here today, then it’s back to Angelique,” he replied.

“Where’s that?”

Draco laughed. “Angelique isn’t a _where_ , but a _who_.”

Nigel raised his eyebrows. “And just who is she, then?”

“Someone I met two weeks ago in Cannes. I was walking along the beach, and there she was, and by the way, the only girl fully clothed. It was quite a sight! She warned me off a shard of glass sticking out of the sand.”

“Is she a witch?” Parvati asked.

“Did she go to Beauxbatons?” Hermione asked.

Draco hesitated. “Actually…well…she’s a…a muggle.”

Parvati laughed. “You can’t be serious!”

“Does she know what you are?” Nigel asked. “That you’re a wizard?”

“Not yet,” Draco replied. “I’ll tell her eventually, that is, if we continue to see each other.”

“What’s she like?” Hermione asked.

Draco rubbed his forehead. “Well, she’s…different from what one might expect. I mean, she’s sort of an intellectual. Our first conversation was about French poetry, none of which I had ever read, of course. Our second conversation was about Jacques Derrida!”

“Who’s that?” Harry asked.

“Some French philosopher. Very modern,” Hermione replied matter-of-factly.

“Is she pretty?” Parvati asked.

Draco shrugged. “I think she is. She’s nearly as tall as I, and she’s a bit conscious about that. I keep telling her she’s fine. She’s blonde like me, but not as light, and her eyes are dark brown.”

“Well she sounds lovely,” Hermione declared.

Just then flutes sounded, indicating to the assembled crowd that it was time for the ritual to begin. Nigel and the rest took their seats. He furtively waved to Arthur, who excitedly waved back. He looked positively beside himself with joy. Molly looked slightly less impressed, though Nigel thought she put on a brave face. He had a sickening feeling that he would have to talk to her after the ritual, something he dreaded with all his being.

Once the wedding guests were seated and settled, the doors to the Great Hall opened slowly. Down the centre aisle processed all the Weasley and Delacour siblings, from Gabrielle Delacour, the youngest, to Charlie Weasley, the eldest. Each held a rose of a different colour—white, yellow, pink, crimson, lavender, magenta, coral—which they placed in a circle around the Book of Shadows. Next to process down the aisle was a very stoic Madame Pomfrey, dressed in flowing white and silvery blue gossamer robes. She marched deliberately down the aisle, her arms open and her palms upward, as if to capture the magical energy the swirled about the place. No one had ever seen their Healer look like this, so mysterious and grand, almost otherworldly.

Nigel shivered.

Next came Bill, barefoot and clad only in a white cotton sheath, a crown of violets in his long red hair. His eyes were serenely closed, his face filled with peace as he made his way down the aisle toward the front of the Great Hall. Nigel could distinctly hear Molly Weasley’s tearful sobs as she watched her eldest son approach the wedding table.

And then entered Fleur, astride a Unicorn still in its silvery youth. She sat erect and poised, her mind and body completely focused on the ritual that lay ahead. Nigel had never seen anyone as breathtakingly beautiful as she in his entire life—like Bill, she was barefoot and clad in a plain cotton sheath. But somehow, Fleur’s inner beauty transformed her into something almost…regal. Bill lifted her off the Unicorn and led her by the hand to Madame Pomfrey, who now took the Book of Shadows in hand and opened it to the Wedding Blessing. A circle of flowers and candles floated upward, over the heads of the bride and groom as the ceremony began.

As Madame Pomfrey spoke in hushed tones in a secret language reserved only for the bride and groom, Nigel could only look on in wonder and awe. It was as if he were peering in from afar into the secret world of divine love, something so fragile, so delicate and yet which held an breathtaking power reserved for bride and groom. Nigel smiled placidly as the ritual continued, barely aware that Parvati had taken his hand in hers. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but Nigel didn’t try to stop them or wipe them away. By the time the ritual was over, Parvati had wrapped her arm around his. Nigel was so caught up in the beauty of the ceremony, that he couldn’t help himself when Parvati leaned toward him and kissed him on the lips.

“That was beautiful,” he breathed.

“Mmm.” She kissed him again.

The wedding reception took place on the Hogwarts grounds, just by the lake. The House Elves had gone all-out, creating a feast of majestic proportions. Nigel was deeply impressed. Everyone looked so happy, so entirely caught up in the blissful energy the ritual had created. Even Snape smiled broadly, a very rare phenomenon. Nigel beamed with family pride. It felt good to see his usually dour cousin looking so happy and carefree for a change.

And then he encountered Molly Weasley.

It was pure accident that Nigel ran into her, especially as he had worked so hard to avoid her all day. But then, Parvati had dropped her shawl, and Nigel had gone back to fetch it for her. When he turned around to return to his date, there stood Mrs. Weasley. Nigel hardly knew what to say, so he said the obvious.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chaucer.” Her voice was a bit stiff, but not as bad as Nigel predicted. Why couldn’t she just call him by his first name, like she usually did? Before he could try to make any conversation with her, she turned and walked away.

“What’s with her?” Parvati asked, a bit confused.

Nigel rolled his eyes. “Long story.” He handed her the shawl.

They found much happier company with Harry, Hermione, Draco, Fred Weasley and his date, Angelina Johnson, a girl Nigel had never met before. Fred was in the midst of telling them the story of how he had turned Fleur’s cat pink. Everyone laughed.

“When did you do that, Fred?” Nigel asked.

“Last week.”

They laughed again.

“Did you change it back?” Parvati asked.

“It’s a sort of pale rose now,” Fred confessed. “It’s getting much better! George wanted to put stripes on it, but someone had to put their foot down.”

“Remind me to keep my pets away from you, mate,” Nigel said, laughing.

“Oh you don’t have to worry, blood-brother,” he replied. “I’m not crossing you. You can do some really scary stuff. Dad said you froze time.”

Hermione gave Nigel a shocked expression. “What? Why would you do such a terrible thing?”

Nigel shrugged. “It wasn’t terrible. I had to take action—otherwise, that muggle policeman would have touched a very dangerous dark object and gotten killed. We’ve had enough of that these days, I’d say.”

“Sounds like you did the right thing,” Harry said. “That’s what I would have done…well…had I known how to freeze time, that is.”

“Oh Nigel, you’re sooo amazing!” Draco said sarcastically. Nigel cuffed him on the arm. Parvati laughed at the pair of them.

Nigel glanced over to see his cousin with his female companion. They stood very close together, talking intensely, looking at little else but each other. Nigel’s curiosity overwhelmed him—he had to meet this woman, find out who she was and how she happened to be at a wedding with Snape, of all people.

“Parvati,” he asked, “how would you like to mingle a bit with me?”

Arm in arm, they wove their way through the chatting crowd, finally reaching Snape and his friend.

“Severus!” Nigel called out. He waved casually and approached the couple.

Snape inclined his head very slightly. “Nigel. Miss Patil,” he said silkily.

“I don’t believe we know your lady friend,” Nigel replied, equally silkily.

With only the slightest hint of annoyance, Snape turned to his friend. “Sophia, this is my cousin, Mr. Nigel Chaucer, and his friend, Miss Parvati Patil. Nigel, Miss Patil, this is Miss Sophia Maimonides.”

“Nice to meet you,” Nigel said politely. He noticed that Sophia’s eyes were almost emerald green—absolutely stunning. Nigel detected the faintest scent of roses in her luxurious hair. He tried to guess her age by looking at her, but he was completely mystified. She could have been anywhere between twenty-five and forty-five. Nigel simply couldn’t tell, but he could see why any man would be interested in her.

“I believe I’ve seen you around the Ministry,” she said. Her voice was surprisingly light, almost breathy.

“What department are you in?” Parvati asked.

“The Department of Mysteries,” she replied.

That caught Nigel’s interest. He raised his eyebrows. “That is fascinating! In fact, I’ve been wanting to consult with an Unspeakable for a few days now. Perhaps next week you and I could arrange a meeting?”

“Certainly, sir. Whatever you need,” she replied, now sounding very official and businesslike.

Nigel saw his cousin wince at the sound of the word, “sir.” He took Parvati by the arm again and stepped back a little. “Well, we’re just going to mingle a bit more. It was nice to meet you, Miss Maimonides,” Nigel said. “See you later, Severus.”

He and Paravati talked to everyone, or so it seemed. They saw Ministry officials, a few friends from Hogwarts, Gringott’s officers, Aurors, businesspeople, merchants, people from every level of society—and of course, the bride and groom. Nigel used the situation to make connections, start friendships and make the most of his position, hoping that it might ultimately help him in his mission.

At three o’clock, everyone sat down to luncheon, still chatting and joking and making very merry. Nigel and Parvati sat with their Hogwarts friends, where Harry told them all about his first week of Auror training. They laughed as he told them how he accidentally turned the supervisor into a goat, and how he vanished a cursed Galleon and couldn’t remember how to retrieve it. Parvati described her post at _The Daily Prophet_ , which made both Harry and Hermione a bit uneasy.

“Right now I just read copy and look for grammar and spelling errors,” she said. “I hope to write a bit of copy in a few months, maybe even report on my own stories.”

Nigel winked. “Like weddings and funerals?”

“You should be taking notes, Parvati,” Draco said.

“I am,” she said, smirking. “Nigel and I have met nearly every person at this wedding, and everyone has said something interesting to us.”

Nigel wasn’t quite sure when it happened in the midst of that happy light, but the next thing he knew, an light brown owl soared overhead, landing on the table in front of Nigel. A note was tied to its outstretched leg. Nigel had a sinking feeling it was bad news. He groaned a bit as he untied the note and unrolled the tiny parchment, noting that it bore the Minister’s personal stamp.

_Dear Mr. Chaucer,_

_Please forgive the interruption to the wedding celebration. The Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, requires the presence of you, Mr. Arthur Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger immediately at the Ministry of Magic, due to a tragedy which occurred early this afternoon. I regret to report that, whilst on duty for the Taylor Task Force, six Aurors were killed by wandfire. Their families have been informed, but the Minister needs you to act on this straight away. Report directly to the Minister’s office upon your arrival._

_Sincerely,  
Donna_

Nigel’s face turned chalk white as he read the note. His hands shook noticeably. Hermione leaned over his shoulder to try and read it, but Nigel held it fast to his chest.

“We have to go,” he told her mournfully. He could barely get the words out. “You and me. Ministry business.”

“Now?” she snapped.

“Now.” Nigel turned to Parvati. “I’m so sorry, Parvati, but something terrible has happened, and I have to go directly to the Ministry.”

“What is it? Is everyone OK?” she asked, alarmed.

“No, they’re not,” he said. “Look, can I make this up to you? Can I take you out again soon? I hate leaving like this, but it’s the Minister. I’m so sorry.”

Parvati leaned close and kissed him lightly on the lips. She nodded. Nigel stood up.

“I’ve got to get Arthur,” he said. “Thank you, Parvati.”

“Mr. Weasley can’t go!” Hermione said shrilly. “It’s his son’s wedding! Surely the Minister can understand that!”

Nigel pulled her aside so they couldn’t be overheard. “People have been killed. Aurors. The Minister needs all of us, now.”

Hermione gasped in shock. “Do you want me to get him?”

Nigel shook his head. “No. That’s my job. Take a few minutes to make your excuses, but please keep this confidential. I don’t want to scare anyone or ruin the festive atmosphere.”

Hermione nodded. “Right, sir.”

His face covered with worry and fear, Nigel tremulously made his way to the top table to speak to Arthur, who was animatedly regaling the family with yet another story about his encounters with muggles. Ron kept glancing hopefully over to Hermione and Harry for some relief, but when Nigel stepped in to interrupt, Ron gave him a look of complete disgust and enmity.

“Nigel!” Arthur exclaimed. “Good to see you, son!”

“Save us, Nigel,” George said. “He’s going to start in on how many muggle computers he’s touched!” All the Weasleys, except Molly and Ron, laughed heartily.

“Actually, I do need to speak to you, Arthur,” Nigel confessed awkwardly.

Molly rolled her eyes with disdain. “Well, off you go to serve,” she muttered under her breath.

Arthur ignored the comment. “What is it, Nigel?” he asked, noting Nigel’s troubled expression.

“The Minister needs us at the Ministry now.”

“Now? But he knows that this is my son’s wedding!”

“I know, I know! It’s awful! But something terrible’s happened!” Nigel whispered. “Six Aurors were killed today!”

“Oh good gods,” Arthur gasped. “When?”

“Just a few hours ago,” Nigel replied.

“Dad,” Charlie Weasley called, coming over to a distraught Nigel and Arthur. “Is everything alright?”

Arthur took a tearful breath and faced his son. “No, Charlie, it’s not. There’s a crisis at the Ministry that must be addressed this very moment, I’m afraid.”

Charlie frowned. “You’re not leaving? On Bill’s wedding day?”

Arthur grasped Charlie by the shoulders. “This is a very serious situation, Charlie. People have been killed. Nigel and I must leave at once. Please make my apologies to everyone, and don’t tell them a thing. We don’t want any unpleasantness spoiling Bill’s day. I’ll explain it all later.”

* * * * *

The Ministry of Magic was all in uproar when Nigel, Arthur and Hermione arrived, still dressed in their Sunday best. They hurried down the corridor to greet an ashen-faced Rufus Scrimgeour, who could barely look them in the eye.

“What the hell happened, Rufus?” Nigel demanded. “How did this happen?”

Scrimgeour motioned for them all to sit. Somehow, the office seemed so small compared to Nigel’s. He couldn’t help but feel a little claustrophobic in there, weighed down by heavy news and terrible grief. The story was so grim. The Aurors had gone on an operation to locate and arrest the person or persons who had killed Glenda Babb and Mrs. Smythe. They had gone on orders from the Ministry, on Nigel’s orders. And they were taken by surprise by suspects unknown, and incinerated before they could disapparate. Their deaths were slow and very painful. All that was left of them were their charred remains. Their wands were stolen and Auror identity cards were gone as well.

All Nigel could think of was the order he had signed, sending those Aurors out there to face that terrible fate. He could feel his stomach turn violently.

Quickly, Nigel excused himself and dashed to the lavatory, where he sicked up his entire lunch and breakfast. On and on Nigel became sicker and sicker. He sobbed uncontrollably, great, noisy, heaving sobs and the reality of what had happened assaulted his conscience. After a while, he collapsed against the wall of the lavatory, his cries echoing throughout the entire room.

A door opened. Footsteps.

“Nigel?” Arthur called out softly. “Are you alright?” He opened the stall door and crouched down next to him.

Nigel couldn’t stop sobbing. “I killed them, Arthur!”

“No! That’s not true!”

“I killed them! They went on my orders, on my stupid, fucking decision!”

Arthur frowned. “You’re oversimplifying things, Nigel!”

“No!” he cried, wiping the tears from his face. “I’ll resign. I’ll do it today, straight away! I’m too young for this! I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing!”

“You’re being ridiculous, Nigel! Those Aurors were professionals! They knew what they were doing, and they knew that their job was not without great risk. This was not your failure. A lot of us were instrumental in creating the entire plan.”

“But it’s my name that’s signed to it! Don’t you get it? They went on my say-so!”

Arthur put a protective arm around Nigel’s shoulders and pulled him close, like a father. Like a son, Nigel leaned his head against Arthur and cried. Finally, after a few minutes, Arthur helped Nigel to his feet.

“You need to pull yourself together, Nigel,” he said sternly. “We need you.”

Nigel shook his head. “No, Arthur. I can’t. I can’t!”

“Yes you can. This is part of the job. You can’t just walk away because someone got killed. There will be more before all this is over. You know that.”

He knew. Still, he found it nearly possible to accept. This was so different from the previous year. Getting rid of the Dark Lord was dangerous enough, but for some reason, this seemed far worse, far more lethal and frightening. Nigel couldn’t help but feel so small just then, so hopelessly boyish and foolish. He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, then went to the sink and splashed some cold water on his burning face. Arthur handed him a towel.

“I’m sorry I freaked out like that, Arthur,” Nigel said. “You must think I’m being childish.”

“No, not childish,” he replied. “Human.”

“I’m sorry we took you from the wedding.”

“Bill understood.”

“Molly didn’t.”

Arthur put a hand on Nigel’s shoulder. “She will one day. Come on. Let’s get back to work.”

* * * * *

Late at night, as his parents slept soundly in their beds, as the whole village of St. Luke slumbered peacefully, Nigel sat by his window, wide awake, filled with worry and stress. The faces of the dead Aurors haunted his vision—these were men and women with families, with children, with great futures ahead of them. They had been so eager in that fateful meeting to go out there in the midst of danger and do their job. They had trusted Nigel’s judgement, had faith in his abilities.

And now they were gone forever. Nigel mourned.

Yet Arthur was right. There was no way that Nigel could now turn his back on the mission, especially now that innocent blood had been shed. But he felt so foolish, so hapless and puerile, as if he were merely stumbling about in the lethal darkness. As he watched the bright moon travel like a snail across the night sky, Nigel resolved in his mind that however difficult the next few months would be, he had to focus all his energies, his powers and his wits on the task given him. The dead Aurors deserved nothing less than Nigel’s full measure of devotion.


	9. Success at Last!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nigel stood before the door, knowing that anything could be inside, or that again, it might be nothing. He took a deep breath, and then, with a wave of the hand, he opened the door. With another wave of the hand, he turned on the light overhead. The room was small and cramped, filled with stacks and stacks of wooden crates. The hard, wood floor was dusty and uneven—it smelled musty and old. Nigel leaned his head inside to take a cursory look about the room. He paused, thinking he heard something. Where did it come from?_

Sunday morning after services, Nigel arrived at the Ministry, refreshed and ready for attack. As he sat in church that morning listening to the Parson speak about justice, Nigel could only think about the Aurors. One of them, Leena Rathburn, he had only just met the week before at the Babb crime scene. And now she was dead, just like that. It didn’t make any sense. As he sat in the pew, Nigel prayed for her soul, for her salvation and eternal peace. His heart was heavy with regret. After the service, as he walked out of the church and down the street toward home, Nigel also noticed dozens of pairs of curious eyes fixed on him, as if they were waiting for him to do something dangerous. He knew it was just town gossip which would eventually be forgotten, but he still felt the sting of unwelcome notoriety.

It was a different sort of notoriety he had at the Ministry, a different sort of judgement. He was the Kid, the Boy Who Would Presume to be Minister, the Snotty-Nosed Show-off. Nigel could see it in their eyes, their expressions as he walked the corridors of the Ministry. And now that six Aurors were dead, the looks became harder, more severe. Nigel carried Arthur’s encouragement with him as he entered his office and began his work.

Nigel’s first course of action was to sign three orders putting into place teams of Aurors and Hitwizards committed to seeking out and arresting those responsible for the murders. Nigel warned them to try and use peaceful means, but to use lethal force if necessary. They were to preserve their own lives first and foremost. He also created a team from St. Mungo’s to assist the families of the fallen Aurors, should they need grief counseling.

Toward the end of the meeting with Gawain and his chief Aurors, an owl arrived for Nigel with a rather large parchment tied to its leg. It was from Parvati.

“Love letter?” Hermione asked waspishly. “It’s a bit thick for a first one.”

Nigel grumbled and opened the scroll. In fact, it wasn’t a love letter at all. It was a draft of a story written by a reporter at the _Prophet_ on a letter received from…

“Oh my gods,” Nigel uttered. “Listen to this. According to Parvati and the bloke at the paper, a group calling itself Acheryn is taking responsibility for yesterday’s killings.”

Arthur snatched the letter from Nigel and read it over. “Goodness! This certainly complicates things.”

“What about Malus?” Hermione asked. “I thought they were responsible for these things.”

“We speculated they were, but perhaps not,” Arthur said. He shook his head.

“Maybe they were,” Nigel replied. “But maybe Acheryn is a splinter group, or a group that formed with the same idea in mind. OK, here’s what I’d like to do. Arthur, you and I will go and talk to Parvati and her reporter friend on Monday to find out more about Acheryn. Hermione, I want you to begin a detailed dossier on Geoffrey Taylor. He owns muggle buildings, so he must have at least limited relations with muggles. You need to find out just how much property he controls so we can possibly find a link with these killings. Two killings are already linked.”

“Which?” the Minister asked.

“Well, Mrs. Smythe, obviously,” he replied.

“I thought the muggle police were investigating that one.”

“They are, but so are we. I found the same murder weapon as was used on Glenda Babb, so obviously, the same killer or organisation is involved in both murders,” Nigel explained.

“Oh yes, the collapsed balcony,” the Minister reminded himself.

“The vanished balcony,” Arthur corrected him.

“If the Aurors were out there finding the killers when they themselves were killed, then that’s a definite link between Taylor and Acheryn,” Nigel reasoned. Everyone nodded in agreement. “That’s why your inquiry will be so crucial, Hermione. You may even need to consult with muggle authorities on this one, chambers of commerce and whatnot. OK?”

Hermione nodded, taking plenty of notes as he spoke. “Right, sir,” she said, in such a natural tone that Nigel nearly missed it.

It felt so strange to be called “sir” by his own friend and equal. But Nigel let it go, considering that they were in a professional climate just then. He decided not to call attention to it. He just hoped that Arthur would never call him that.

Once things had been set in motion, Nigel went home for the rest of the day. By then, it was already late in the afternoon, and he wanted to say good-bye to his friends before they left for University. One final time, he, Jimmy, Clive, Paul, Nadia, Harry and Robert gathered at McDougal’s. Lucy did not attend—in fact, she left a day early, mostly to avoid saying good-bye to Nigel. At McDougal’s, Nigel kept his full attention fully on his friends, and far away from his own troubles at the Ministry. Unfortunately, his friends didn’t want to let the topic of wizardry drop. Nigel wasn’t sure how to respond. It was one thing to tell Jimmy and Clive, since they were his best friends, and even then, it was only because Lucy had again forced the issue. This time was different.

“So come on, Nigel,” Nadia said. “Have you slammed any more doors these days?”

Nigel tried to laugh it off. “That was kind of a freaky coincidence, I think.”

“Come on, you can tell us,” Harry said. “We’re all friends here. I remember when you made chalk fly. Remember that? And when you made that stain go away? That was wicked!”

“Yeah,” Robert said. “Maybe you really do have magic powers, Nigel.”

“Don’t be daft,” Clive said.

“Maybe it’s TK or something,” Jimmy offered. “You know, telekinesis?”

“Oh yeah!” Nadia exclaimed. “That’s when you move things with your mind, right? My mum says her hairdresser can do that. She made a heavy glass bowl skid right off a table!”

“Did your mum see it happen?” Nigel asked dubiously.

“Yeah! She still talks about it!”

“Do it, Chaucer,” Paul said. “Come on, give it a go. Use this.” He placed a bottle of sauce in the centre of the table.

“Nah, I don’t want to,” Nigel said. He threw a what-do-I-do look at Jimmy, who shrugged slightly.

“Please Nigel?” Nadia begged. “We want to see.”

Nigel looked at the bottle, knowing he could at any moment vanish it, explode it, change its colour, make it breathe fire or turn it to red roses. Controlling his powers as hard as he could, Nigel put his hands on the table and made the faintest movement with his finger, so that the bottle shimmied and moved about a half inch. Everyone clapped.

“That was totally amazing!” Paul exclaimed.

“Do something else!” Nadia said eagerly.

“How do you know I’m not using mirrors or string or something?” Nigel asked. “I might be a total fraud or an illusionist or something.”

They all laughed.

“It looked real to me,” Harry said.

Nigel raised an eyebrow. Snape would have been mortified at him. “That’s the whole point of a master illusionist, isn’t it? To make the unreal look real.”

“Well that was the best magic trick I’ve seen in my life, then,” Robert said. “Will you show us how?”

“You know a good magician never reveals his secrets,” Nigel replied. “You’ll have to go to clown college like I did.”

“Lucy said you went to magic school,” Nadia said.

“She also said he could fly on a broomstick,” Paul pointed out. Everyone laughed again.

“Yeah, and besides, it’s a magic mop I fly, not a broom. I wish she’d get the details right!” Nigel joked. He ate a chip slathered in sauce. “It’s going to be really quiet this year with all you guys gone away,” he confessed.

“Why aren’t you going away?” Robert asked.

“Gap year. I still feel like I’m catching up from my accident, and my family and I all decided that I needed another year before university or anything else. I intend to come and visit, though, so be prepared.”

Another set of lies. Nigel hated himself for doing it, but they had asked him questions he couldn’t possibly answer without getting himself into serious trouble. In a way, it would be a bit of relief to see his peers go away for a while. He wouldn’t have to create stories or excuses, and he wouldn’t have to mock his abilities or his people. But he’d miss them all the same.

* * * * *

Success!

Four arrests, all in the space of two hours. Three suspects, all wizards, were taken by Aurors in a dark alley in central London. Another, a witch, was apprehended two miles from St. Luke. Nigel worried about that one. The witch captured refused to give her name, and it was only when Nigel ordered Kingsley Shaklebolt to administer Veritaserum that she revealed some vital information.

Upon her arrest, Nigel ordered her brought directly to Azkaban, where he, Shaklebolt, Arthur and Gawain Robards interrogated her in a cramped, dimly lit room. Two Dementors stood guard outside the room, which cast a gloomy pall over the scene.

Her name was Morgana Verdi, from Liverpool. She did not know Geoffrey Taylor personally, but she had read a series of pamphlets he published in the last five years—she was inspired. One was called, “Coming Out, Coming Clean,” which promoted the idea that witches and wizards had no reason to hide their identity from the muggle world. In fact, Taylor’s pamphlet called for all witches and wizards to use their powers not just against each other but against muggles, too, as an open show of pride in their magical abilities.

“What’s the goal?” Nigel demanded.

“Victory,” she replied plainly.

“What victory?” Nigel asked. “We already had victory.”

“Victory over oppression,” she said.

“Who’s being oppressed?”

“All of us are.”

“Who is this us?” Robards asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Shaklebolt forced more Veritaserum into her.

“Tell us, Morgana,” Nigel said, “who is this group of people being oppressed?”

“Those of us who want to live openly as witches and wizards, that’s who. Those of us who are tired of the ludicrous secrecy laws and the hiding and living in shame and discretion, that’s who,” she said. “You feel that way, Mr. Chaucer, don’t you? Don’t you hate having to hide your identity from the world? Don’t you hate having to lie like a filthy muggle?”

Nigel immediately shut his mind against her, unsure if she was using Legilimency on him or whether she was just playing with his emotions. Either way, she had touched a nerve with him, and the last thing he wanted to do was admit that she had a point. Instead of pressing the issue, he asked her questions about specific goals and aims.

“Why was Glenda Babb killed?” he asked.

“I don’t know any Glenda Babb,” she replied.

“That’s bullshit, Morgana,” Nigel spat. “You know exactly why.”

“I don’t!”

Shaklebolt threw him a warning look. Nigel took a breath before he continued.

“Why were those Aurors killed Saturday?”

She laughed. “Why do you think?”

It took all Nigel possessed not to throttle her right then and there. “Why were those Aurors killed, Morgana?” he shouted.

“Self-defence!”

“Self-defence?”

“You heard me. It was us or them.”

“What were you doing just before you killed them?”

“Preparing to kill them.”

“Don’t be cheeky,” Robards snapped at her.

“We were!” Morgana replied.

“And had the Aurors not crossed your path, what were you planning?” Nigel asked.

Morgana struggled against the Veritaserum, but the potion was too strong for her. It was Nigel’s own product, a particularly strong version of the potion. “We were going to attack a muggle building.”

“Which one?” Shaklebolt asked.

“The Houses of Parliament,” she gasped, still fighting against the Veritaserum. “We were going to blast it into splinters at ten in the morning, kill as many filthy muggles as we could.”

“What day?” Nigel asked.

Morgana hesitated.

“What day, dammit?” Nigel demanded.

“Wednesday! Satisfied, you bastard?”

“Who is involved? I want their names!” Nigel declared.

The list of names Morgana gave was painfully long—sixty-six names in all, herself included, all of whom had planned to position themselves strategically around the Parliament building and attack it full force as Big Ben struck ten.

After the interrogation, Morgana was escorted to a cell by the Dementors, whilst Nigel and the others returned immediately into the Minister’s office to discuss the outcome of the interview. There was no time to lose.

“You’ll have to warn the muggle PM immediately,” Nigel said to the Minister. “He’ll need to shut the building down entirely.”

“Is that necessary?” Hermione asked. “Isn’t that overdoing it a bit? We don’t want the muggles getting wise to us, do we? The plot has been discovered.”

“I doubt that will stop them from this,” Nigel said. “And we’ve only arrested four of them. That leaves us with sixty-two to go. Until every single one of them is arrested, the Houses of Parliament are not safe. One witch or wizard can do an awful lot of damage. We must tell the PM to shut the building down until the threat is entirely extinguished.”

“That won’t save the building in time,” Hermione cautioned.

“It’ll save lives,” Nigel replied. “That’s more important.”

As it was, arresting sixty-two dark witches and wizards in the space of two and a half days seemed an impossible task, daunting in its scope. They discussed their options at a major meeting later that day, nearly everyone lamenting the difficulty of the project. Aurors were already stretched too far as it was—they were busy tracking down members of Malus, investigating Geoffrey Taylor and doing their usual duties as well. The case was the same for the Law Enforcement squad. After several minutes of squabbling and arguing, Hermione finally came up with a solution.

“I think we should go back to Morgana and use Veritaserum on her so we can ascertain the location of their meeting place,” she said.

“That assumes they all meet in one place, and that there will be a meeting before Wednesday morning,” the Minister said.

“They’re probably broken into cell groups,” Shaklebolt said. “And there’s no guarantee that Morgana knows where they all are.”

“She’ll know some of them,” Hermione said. “And even if we can catch two-thirds of them before Wednesday, that would lessen their attack.”

“And how are we supposed to do that, Miss Granger?” the Minister asked sarcastically.

“Nigel,” she said. “Nigel is an expert at binding and freezing charms, and he can do them wandlessly. He can bind them magically long enough for Aurors to arrest them and take them to Azkaban.”

The Minister sat back, his eyes filled with excitement. “I like that,” he said. “Very good, Granger. Nigel?”

This would be terribly dangerous. His parents would throw a fit if they ever suspected what he was up to. But Nigel couldn’t worry about that. This was serious business, and he had every intention of getting to the bottom of the entire scheme if it was the very last thing he did in this world.

Therefore, agreeing to accompany teams of Aurors as they hunted down the remaining sixty-two members of Acheryn was an easy choice. Nigel had enough faith in his abilities to carry him through the difficult hours ahead.

They wasted no time in getting started, based on a combination of clues given them by the prisoners, all under the power of Veritaserum. Their first stop was Grasmere, where they burst in on a coven of nine witches involved in the plot. It was a simple three-step process. Kingsley Shaklebolt would blast open the door, Nigel would rush in to bind them, and then the other accompanying Aurors finished the job by arresting them and transporting the prisoners to Azkaban. This went on for nearly twenty-four hours straight, and by Tuesday afternoon, Nigel and his team had arrested sixty of the sixty-two. It was a truly incredible effort, but not a completed one. The final two were more elusive than the others, trickier to track down and arrest.

Nigel and his team were told that the final two had fled to a cottage in Richmond, but when the team arrived, the house was vacated—or so it seemed at first. Nigel and the rest spread out throughout the cottage, searching room by room for any signs of life. Nigel first entered the kitchen area, searched every cabinet, under the table, under the sink, even inside the icebox. Nothing.

“Clear!” he shouted, moving on to the adjacent dining room. He looked under the table, inside the china hutch, behind the curtains and inside the sideboard. Nothing again.

“Clear!” Nigel shouted, now moving on to a closed door in the corridor.

Nigel stood before it, knowing that anything could be inside, or that again, it might be nothing. He took a deep breath, and then, with a wave of the hand, he opened the door. With another wave of the hand, he turned on the light overhead. The room was small and cramped, filled with stacks and stacks of wooden crates. The hard, wood floor was dusty and uneven—it smelled musty and old. Nigel leaned his head inside to take a cursory look about the room. He paused, thinking he heard something. Where did it come from?

His attention was briefly diverted by the sound of breaking glass and a shout overhead, and before he could take a step in either direction, BAM! Nigel was hit so hard from behind that the force catapulted him halfway into the room. He landed face first with a grunt in a crumpled heap on the floor, coughing and gasping frantically for air. In a daze, Nigel turned his head to catch a glimpse of his attacker, but the room spun in a sickening whirl before everything went black…

* * * * *

Nigel.

Nigel?

“Mmm…”

“Hey! Nigel!”

Nigel didn’t want to open his eyes. The world was so pleasingly peaceful and soft and dark. All he wanted to do was turn over in his comfortable, warm bed and go back to sleep.

“Nigel!” The voice was decidedly female, but not one he recongised straight away. He knew it wasn’t his mother’s voice, and nor was it Hermione’s. It couldn’t be Molly Weasley. She wouldn’t want him to wake up.

It was no good. Nigel knew that he would have to open his eyes and face the world. He was so comfortable. In truth, he had no idea how long he had been asleep. He’d had so many dreams, mostly involving a unicorn and a pink bicycle. He had no idea what it all meant. Nigel slowly opened his eyes, staring out blearily at a fuzzy, blond-haired figure and a fuzzy, black-haired figure, both of whom came into focus after a few seconds.

“You alright, Chaucer?” Draco asked. He seemed pale and anxious.

Parvati stood next to Draco, looking Nigel’s bruised, swollen arms and shoulder worriedly. Nigel tried to sit up, but winced as the pain tore through him. He lay back, nervously wondering what had happened to him. He was sure it was just a bad stunning spell, and so he couldn’t see why he felt so much pain. Perhaps it was because his body was already more vulnerable to pain, considering the aftermath of his accident two years before.

“Thank the gods you’re awake!” Parvati said. “We didn’t know whether you’d come out of it quite right.”

That couldn’t be correct. Surely she was exaggerating.

Nigel struggled to speak. “How long have I been here?” he asked. He felt as if he had been flattened by a falling anvil. His head throbbed painfully.

Parvati and Draco threw each other cautious glances.

“Well, I think it’s been two…um…well…two days,” Draco said. He studied Nigel’s suddenly rigid expression.

“Oh my gods,” Nigel murmured. But an abrupt, terrible thought assaulted his mind, causing him to sit bolt upright. “My parents!” he cried, forgetting the fierce twinge that shot through his body just then. “They must be out of their heads with worry!”

“They’re here, at St. Mungo’s,” Parvati said, easing Nigel back down. “Take care, Nigel. Don’t overdo it just yet. You just woke up!”

Draco strode out of the room to fetch the Chaucers. Not only did Nigel’s parents rush in with Draco, but also his cousin, Tony, his aunt and uncle, and a white-faced Severus Snape. Nigel braced himself for the barrage from his parents. But Mrs. Chaucer only gathered Nigel into her arms and held him tightly, weeping into his hair.

“Oh my baby,” she moaned. “My baby! You’re alright!” She kissed his cheeks, his forehead, his temples, and then wept anew.

“I’m fine, Mum, really,” Nigel said, trying to loosen her grip on him, which hurt him more than he wanted to confess to her. Somehow, her relief seemed more important than his discomfort, so he let her hold him for a minute more before Mr. Chaucer stepped in to do the exact same thing.

“They said you were splendid, son,” he said rather proudly. “The doctor, that is, the Healer, said they gave you some potion to keep you asleep for an extra day. You were in pretty bad shape when Shaklebolt and Tonks brought you here.”

“What happened to me?” Nigel asked.

“Do you remember anything?” Tony asked, intrigued by the small cauldron of bright blue potion which rested on a side table.

“I was going into a room, and then I don’t remember a thing,” Nigel replied. “I think I heard something break, but maybe that was in my mind. And then I was here. It felt like I had just been out for five minutes. I can’t believe it’s been two days.”

“What’s all this?” the Nurse screeched at the sight of all the visitors in Nigel’s room. “No no no! There are far too many people in here! Mr. Chaucer has sustained a terrible injury, and he needs his rest!” And with that, she shooed everyone out, leaving Nigel suddenly and sadly alone.

After a minute or two, the door opened again. Creeping rather stealthily, Snape came in the room and shut the door noiselessly behind him. He placed a long, bony finger over his lips and said, “Shh.”

“How are you?” he whispered, pulling a chair over to Nigel’s bedside.

“Where did everyone go?”

“The refectory. I convinced them that they all were exhausted from worry, and that a good meal would restore their spirits.”

“Were my parents angry?” Nigel asked.

“Yes, very. Your father especially. Arthur and I talked to him for quite a long time until he calmed down and saw things from our perspective.”

“He’s not so keen on this job of mine.”

“Don’t be so certain of that, Nigel,” Snape replied. “Shaklebolt and Nymphadora were quick to sing your praises. They nearly deified you. I don’t think your mother and father will have any further reason to complain.”

Nigel scowled. “Except that I nearly got killed.”


	10. Time Off for Brave Behaviour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Nigel's legend grows, so does the pressure on him to bring this crisis to a resolution...and so do his doubts in his own abilities. Bringing his father to Hogwarts, therefore, inspires new thoughts in the young wizard's mind. He just hopes his parents will be able to handle it all.

**MAJOR ARREST: CHAUCER IN THE LEAD**  
Chaucer and team arrest 65 dark witches and wizards in two days  
By Ernestine Doyle, Staff Writer

_LONDON Nigel Chaucer, 18, second in command at the Ministry of Magic, has at long last proven his worth to the wizarding community. In the space of a mere two days, Chaucer led a team of Aurors and Hitwizards stormed the hideouts of a total of 65 dark witches and wizards, all part of a group set to demolish the muggle Houses of Parliament in an act of brutal terrorism. Only one wizard, known as Heroditus Q, escaped. His whereabouts are currently unknown, though we are assured by Auror Department Head Gawain Robards that his people are hard at work on his capture._

_While Chaucer unfortunately sustained serious injuries in the campaign, Auror Kingsley Shaklebolt told the Prophet that, “Chaucer was amazing. I’ve never seen power like that since Albus Dumbledore.”_

_According to Shaklebolt, “Chaucer exerted tremendous leadership and cunning. It is a great relief to have such a gifted and committed wizard at the helm of this effort. Our world would be in uproar were it not for Chaucer’s sheer nerve.”_

_Chaucer sustained severe injuries after being hit with several powerful Stunning Spells at close range, at the hands of Heroditus Q. Though Chaucer’s life was not in danger, treating his wounds and transporting him to St. Mungo’s proved to be tricky, according to Auror Nymphadora Tonks._

_“Mr. Shaklebolt first had to heal Mr. Chaucer’s broken bones before we could touch him at all,” said Miss Tonks. “Fortunately, he was breathing, so we didn’t have to worry about that. But he was unconscious, so we had to be pretty gentle as we got him to hospital.”_

_Chaucer is still a patient at St. Mungo’s, where Healer Elijah Casey is in charge of his care. According to Casey, Chaucer will be released from St. Mungo’s on Sunday, when he will be sent home for a brief rest before he returns to his work at the Ministry of Magic._

_Nigel Chaucer has proven his heroism and his astonishing powers once again, and the wizarding world can only express its gratitude to this remarkable young man._

* * * * *

“I can’t believe he got away,” Nigel grumbled. He sat up in his hospital bed, reading the paper and finishing his porridge. He wished it didn’t taste so much like paste. At least he got freshly made pumpkin juice to drink. Thank the gods for small pleasures, he thought.

“Never mind that for now,” Mrs. Chaucer said, attempting to comfort her son. She and her husband sat at Nigel’s bedside, finishing their own breakfasts of toast, eggs, bacon and kippers. Nigel looked at their plates with envy. He was sick of porridge.

“That little girl did a nice article about you, son,” Mr. Chaucer said brightly. “She’s quite a good writer. Wasn’t she the one you took to the wedding?”

Nigel shook his head. “Parvati reads copy—for now anyway.”

“She was here the entire time you were brought in and worked on,” Mr. Chaucer pointed out. “She’s got an ear for news.”

Nigel shrugged. He wished it were Sunday so he could get straight back to the Ministry. Unfortunately, the Minister had put his foot down. Nigel must rest for a total of seven working days before returning to the office, assuring him that if he showed up any sooner, he would be docked a month’s pay.

That was harsh.

Nigel barely knew what to do with himself. After all, he had been working for less than a month, and now he was forced to take a leave of absence. It made no sense to him. Why?

“You’re no good to me exhausted and recovering from serious injury,” the Minister had asserted.

Deep down, Nigel knew Rufus was right, but he didn’t want to accept it. It was only just recently that he had finally found his stride, finally felt at ease with the authority given him—having to step back, even just for a few days, seemed cruel to Nigel. And even now that his parents had given him their full approval and support, it wasn’t enough. Rest was not what he wanted. Nigel wanted to work, to find the missing Heroditus Q, to get to the bottom of this growing network of dark witches and wizards.

But no. He would have to wait.

Nigel found it nearly impossible to sleep at first. His first night at home, all he could do was sit by the window and watch the moon travel across the night sky, thinking about his next move, and the next and the next. But he was so far away from his office. Even contact was forbidden. In the morning, a sluggish, heavy-eyed Nigel came down to breakfast, nearly incapable of talking about anything but work and plans and tactics.

“Nigel,” Mr. Chaucer said softly, putting a fatherly hand on his, “you must rest, son. Arthur is on it. Things are in motion, things you put into place.”

“We were so close, Dad, and I screwed up,” Nigel said bitterly. “I’m such a stupid git! If I hadn’t turned my back like that, I might have been able to catch the bloody…”

“Nigel!” Mrs. Chaucer snapped. “Honey, please! Stop.”

Nigel caught his breath. “Sorry, Mum.” He took a bite of apple, without enjoyment.

“How would you like to visit Severus today?” Mr. Chaucer asked. “He tells me that if you lead me, I will be able to see Hogwarts.”

“You want to see Hogwarts, Dad?” Nigel asked, entirely astonished by his father’s pronouncement.

“I would, actually.”

Nigel hardly knew what to say. “Sure, Dad, I’d love to take you there. Mum? Would you like to go?”

“I think it might be nice for you to share this with your father today,” she said. “I’ll go another time.”

This was entirely unexpected, though Nigel had hoped for it for a very long time. As he got dressed that morning, a new excitement filled Nigel’s heart. For so long, he wasn’t sure how friendly his father felt about this whole wizard business, but now, with this expressed interest in seeing Hogwarts itself, Nigel was nearly beside himself with anticipation. He wanted to show his father everything.

As difficult as his relationship sometimes was with his father, especially in the last couple of years, Nigel always felt close to him. He knew that he could go to his father with anything, no matter what, even when he had done something terribly wrong. When Nigel was fourteen, for example, he tried marijuana at a party at Paul’s house. Though Nigel arrived home clean and sober, he felt an urge to confess his sin to his father the next day. Mr. Chaucer had sat Nigel down and showed him pages and pages of information about the devastating physical, emotional and behavioural aftereffects of marijuana use, without judgement or wrath. Then, he hugged him and told him firmly that if he ever did it again, Nigel was on his own—literally.

Nigel never did it again.

Today was a different sort of moment, one of which Nigel never dreamed. The thought of showing his muggle father the hallowed halls of Hogwarts seemed a physical impossibility if nothing else, but now, it was becoming all too real. As they walked up the all too familiar path, Nigel’s mind was filled with all sorts of thoughts. He agonised over what he would say to his father at Hogwarts, where he would take him, to whom he would introduce him. Nigel could barely wait for the moment when his father first caught sight of the castle. By the time they approached the gates of Hogwarts, Nigel couldn’t contain himself.

“What do you see now?” he asked, fifty yards from the school.

“An empty field. A sign warning of danger. The same sign I’ve seen for twenty years.”

They walked on. Now they were twenty yards away. The sky above was crystal clear—Nigel could see the looming castle in perfect detail ahead of them but he wondered just how close they would have to be before his father saw a thing.

“What now?” Nigel asked. “Anything?”

“An empty field still. No castle. We’ve past that danger sign, though.”

Nigel worried a little. He wondered if Snape had it right and that his father would be able to see anything at all. They walked on a while longer up the path, with the front gates in full view, at least for Nigel, until…

“Wait!” Mr. Chaucer exclaimed, eyes wide. “Oh my goodness! Are you telling me this has been here all this time?”

“Do you see it now? Is it there?”

“It’s HUGE!” Mr. Chaucer said. “I can’t believe it! Imagine that! It’s as if we’ve just passed through a curtain that was masking this place. Amazing!”

They stood directly in front of the grand iron gates, looking up at the turrets and spires of the castle. Mr. Chaucer placed his hands on the stone wall, feeling its roughness and age, as if to prove to himself that this was real. Nigel smiled, remembering how he had done the exact same thing during his first visit to Hogwarts.

“Amazing,” he said quietly, almost reverently, looking every which way like a wonderstruck boy.

Nigel pulled out his wand and shot up red sparks.

“We have to wait to be let in. I expect someone will be along in a couple of minutes. Don’t be shocked if it’s Hagrid. He’s half-giant. You met him at the celebration.”

Sure enough, a robed figure emerged from the massive front doors of the castle, walking swiftly down the path toward the gates, only it wasn’t Hagrid. In fact, the figure was decidedly female, clad in black robes and a red witch’s hat. Nigel waved cheerily to Professor McGonagall.

“Hi!” he said happily. “Sorry I didn’t send an owl before we came. I thought I’d give my dad a tour today! I hope that’s OK.”

McGonagall nodded as she let them in, watching Mr. Chaucer a bit suspiciously. “This is quite a moment for us,” she said a bit awkwardly. “Our first muggle!”

“Is this OK?” Mr. Chaucer asked, now a bit unsure. “We’re not breaking wizard law by coming here, are we?”

“Oh no, of course not! It’s wonderful!” McGonagall exclaimed. “I’m very happy you’ve come, Mr. Chaucer. This is a rare treat for us. And if you stay for luncheon, I can introduce you to our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Her name is Miss Sophia Maimonides.”

“You’re kidding!” Nigel exclaimed. “I met her at Bill’s wedding! She’s Severus’ friend, right?”

“She certainly is,” McGonagall replied. “He was the one who introduced her to us. She’s quite a splendid woman, I must say. Very knowledgeable.”

“Of course,” Nigel said flippantly. “She’s an Unspeakable, or I guess she was. Actually, I wanted to talk to her a bit, get some ideas from her.”

“But not today,” Mr. Chaucer intervened. “Come on, Nigel, show me around this beautiful place.”

They went everywhere that day. Nigel showed his father the lake, the Whomping Willow, the hut that was once Austin Harpe’s, and then inside. He showed Mr. Chaucer the Great Hall, where he was sorted into Slytherin, the Potions classroom, where he and Snape spent so many intense hours together, and he showed him to the Slytherin common room.

But he didn’t know the password to enter. The warlock in the painting on the door was most insistent that Nigel utter the correct password to gain entry.

“But I’m no longer a student here,” he insisted. “I’m just here for the day showing my dad around.”

“No password, no entry,” the warlock croaked.

“Devil’s Snare,” Snape’s voice sounded behind them. The door swung open with a loud creak. “Slughorn never did get that creaky door mended.”

“I was hoping I’d see you!” Nigel said brightly. “What’s this about your lady friend teaching here?”

“Why don’t we go inside,” Snape declared stiffly.

“Come on, Dad,” Nigel said, leading his father through the portrait-hole. Snape followed.

“Good to see you again,” Snape said politely to Mr. Chaucer, shaking his hand. “You look well.”

“As do you,” Mr. Chaucer replied. “Nigel tells me you’re teaching Potions again this year. Must be good to be back here.”

“It is, actually.”

Nigel chuckled. “So tell us about Sophia, Severus,” he said.

“And fill your lurid imagination?” Snape replied coolly. “I think not. There is, however, something I do need to discuss with you, Nigel. But please, do show your father around Slytherin house first.”

Nigel showed his father everything, from the boys’ dorm to the marble and gold lavatory to the collection of books in the common room. Mr. Chaucer couldn’t help but be impressed by what he saw.

“I wonder where I would have been placed, had I been a wizard,” he mused. “Slytherin?”

Nigel wondered. “I don’t know, Dad. I’d peg you as a Ravenclaw, actually.”

“Is that good?”

“Sure! They’re the clever students here at Hogwarts. You’d fit in perfectly!” He showed his father the view from his old bedroom window. Together, they looked out over the rolling lawns, beyond to the lake.

“What a beautiful place,” Mr. Chaucer mused. “I can see why you loved it here so much, son. In fact, it explains many things to me.”

Nigel sat on his old bed, now passed on to another boy. “What do you mean?”

Mr. Chaucer sat down next to him, placing a hand on Nigel’s knee. “I can see what you are now, now that I’ve seen this place for myself. I can see how natural this is to you. I can see the reality of your world and your love for these people as I never have before. This really is a special place.” He sighed wistfully. “I think it’s time for your mother and I to let go of you, let you have your life.”

That struck Nigel hard. He hadn’t expected these sentiments from his father, at least not yet. After all, had he not just been terribly injured, nearly killed by dark wizards? Mr. Chaucer’s words forced Nigel to wonder about himself, whether he was ready to let go of them. After all, he was the one who insisted that he was an adult with an important job. He begged them to treat him as an adult and to accept fully that he was a full-fledged wizard—ironically, now it was time for him to live up to his words. Nigel trembled a bit and gathered up his courage.

“I think I need to move into a place of my own,” Nigel said quietly. He looked at his father tenuously, trying to discern his reaction. “Is that OK?”

Mr. Chaucer sniffled and rubbed his eyes—Nigel had a terrible feeling his father was crying. Finally, Mr. Chaucer nodded. “It’s not up to us any more. But yes, I think that’s a good idea, son, though we’ll miss you terribly.” He patted Nigel on the shoulder and moved to the window. “You’re a good boy. You’ll be just fine.”

“I love you, Dad,” Nigel said.

“Tell me honestly, Nigel. Is this career in the Ministry something you really want to pursue?”

Nigel sighed impatiently, but his father cut across him.

“I only ask because you still have a chance to pursue your original dream as a muggle doctor,” Mr. Chaucer said. “Or even as a Healer. It’s not too late, but if that’s not what you want, then I’ll never mention it again.”

Nigel lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “I thought about it a little, to be honest,” he said. “When all my friends left for university, I sort of felt…abandoned, even trapped. I hated myself for that. It was like I was denying a part of myself by wanting to go with them. Does that sound pathetic or what?”

“No, of course not.”

“But I’m committed to what I’m doing, Dad. I really am.”

“Then I feel safe in letting you go.”

Luncheon that afternoon was lavish—four courses, plenty of wine and sweets, a rich feast indeed. The Chaucers were joined by Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Miss Maimonides, Hagrid and Professor Flitwick, who sat on two thick cushions to be able to reach the table properly.

“I was telling Nigel what a wonderful place this is,” Mr. Chaucer said. “Truly magical, if you’ll forgive the pun.”

Everyone laughed.

“Have you thought any more about investigating your magical background, Mr. Chaucer?” Miss Maimonides asked. “I was one of five people who attempted to discover an explanation for why your son became a wizard so suddenly.”

“Any answers?” Nigel asked.

“I wouldn’t mind taking a sample of your blood, actually,” she replied. “A deeper examination of it might point to an alchemical reason. And Severus,” she said, smiling sweetly at him, “I’d like to know your family history as well, going back as far as possible. This whole phenomenon could be explained by an old charm or even a curse.”

Nigel smirked as he watched his cousin flush ever so slightly. No one had ever made Severus Snape flush like that. He and Professor McGonagall exchanged bemused glances.

“Well, Sophia, before we get into that, there is a rather more pressing issue before us,” Snape started.

“Like diamond rings?” Nigel joked.

Snape snarled at him. “Like your personal security, _sir_.”

Nigel frowned. “I know there’s a security risk in my post, Severus. Just look at what just happened to me.”

“That’s not what I mean, Nigel,” he replied gruffly. “I had a word with your old pal, Vincent Crabbe, two days ago, and what he tells me I was able to confirm with other associates of mine.”

“What is it, then?” Nigel asked impatiently.

“When you made all those spectacular arrests last week, it caught the attention of the entire wizarding world, and not just in England,” Snape began. “Witches and wizards all over the world read the story of your tremendous power and leadership, and there is not a person among us who is not in complete awe of your accomplishments and your gifts. But do not be caught up in the admiration and flattery of those who love you and who wish to know you and wish to imitate you.”

Nigel blushed. “Come on, Severus, you’re being a bit dramatic,” he said.

“You have also caught the attention of some very bad and dangerous people,” Snape continued, ignoring Nigel’s comment.

“Well I figured that one out last week!” Nigel replied with a glib laugh.

Snape raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Then, Nigel, it should be no shock to you that there is a bet on for your life. The person to kill you first will be richly rewarded and highly honoured.”

“By whom?” Mr. Chaucer asked angrily.

“By the very people your son is working to bring to justice, that’s who.”

Nigel’s mind reeled. “You’re not suggesting I stop, are you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Snape said. “You will, however, need to exercise serious caution as you continue on in your task. I have already spoken with a few of Sophia’s associates, and we have all agreed that we should make your house Unplottable.”

“But they don’t know where I live, do they?” Nigel asked.

“Perhaps not yet, but do you want them finding out?”

“No.” A terrible thought tore through him. “Wait! What about my parents? This endangers them, doesn’t it?”

Snape looked sympathetically at Mr. Chaucer. “I’m afraid so. These are people who would not balk at attacking your loved ones to draw you out into the open.”

“You’re not suggesting my wife and I move, are you?” Mr. Chaucer asked nervously.

“I doubt that will be necessary,” Snape replied assuredly. “I think we can find a way of protecting you both. Making your home Unplottable is a good start—they will not be able to detect your whereabouts magically. And I understand Nigel gave you a security device.”

“Yes, but I still have to go to the office,” Mr. Chaucer protested.

“Hang on,” Nigel broke in. “Remember that potion I made for Draco in May? The one that protected him against the Cruciatus Curse?”

Snape nodded. “Oh yes, your Shield Potion. Very effective.”

“It will work on muggles, won’t it?”

Snape shrugged. “I don’t see why not. We could experiment a bit. Would you be game for that, Mr. Chaucer?”

“Yes, if it will protect my wife and me from bad spells.”

“It should protect you from nearly everything,” Snape said. “Nigel’s formula is particularly effective. You could try a bit of it today if you like.”

“Uh, not today,” Nigel confessed. “I don’t have any. I’ll need to brew some. It should take about a day.”

“You can’t do it tomorrow,” McGonagall said sternly. “Tomorrow’s September first! The students return tomorrow!”

“Can I come and see the Sorting?” Nigel asked. “I don’t return to work until next week, the seventh. In fact, I could spend time in the Potions classroom working on my Shield Potion, then stay for the Sorting, and then go home and try out the potion on my dad.”

“That sounds perfect,” McGonagall said.

* * * * *

That night, after his parents had gone to bed, Nigel took a long walk through the streets of St. Luke, looking curiously at the place he had called home all his life. He passed the familiar green light emanating from Mrs. Perkins’ bedroom two doors down, and the crack in the pavement that he had tripped over and sprained his ankle when he was ten. Nigel passed McDougal’s, suddenly craving hot chips and sauce, and he passed the greengrocer’s, where Mrs. Chaucer bought her vegetables every day. He could hear the Tomlin’s dog barking, like always, at the slightest movement from without. Nigel remembered when that beast had chased him for three blocks when he was a kid. Now the dog was old and crippled and didn’t chase anyone these days.

Sitting on a park bench to rest his aching legs, Nigel leaned his head back and stared at the stars above, picking out constellations and trying to discern universal truths from what he saw. Though Nigel was no divination expert, one truth did impress itself on him as he rested there, drawing upon the energy of the night breeze. St. Luke held a magic of its own, one that was perhaps more abiding than anything he had learned at Hogwarts. In his pretty little town, Nigel had learned love, friendship, compassion and empathy, things these dark wizards did not possess. He held onto that knowledge desperately, letting its force fill his heart and soul.

The night suddenly felt electric, potent, nearly pulsating. It revived his body, restored his focus, gave him a strong sense of calm. One thing became very apparent to Nigel in that moment, something he stored in the depths of his heart. For so long he had struggled with the magic that had been thrust upon him, forcing him to abandon his muggle dreams and even to sacrifice some of his muggle friendships—for too long he felt as if he had to choose one over the other. That was what Lucy wanted him to do, and until today, Nigel had the sense that his parents wanted the same thing.

But all that doubt and second-guessing was gone, with his father’s blessing. No longer did Nigel feel that he had to choose or to live in denial of either side of his life. Though he wasn’t sure that he could integrate his two selves, Nigel resolved that they could peacefully coexist, giving him power and inspiration in greater, more exciting ways than he had ever allowed himself to imagine.


	11. Back to Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a new school year at Hogwarts, and for once, Nigel gets to see a Sorting Ceremony! He also meets a new professor, Sophia Maimonides.

The next morning, Nigel made his way back to Hogwarts, dressed inconspicuously as a muggle. He knew that in time, the gossip about him would end, but to make that happen, Nigel understood that he had to look and dress as a muggle whilst out and about in the village, and to avoid giving anyone a reason to think him anything other than a regular person. His first stop that morning was Miss Julie’s Cottage, the best pastry shop in the area. Miss Julie’s had been featured on the BBC three years ago, and since then, St. Luke saw a sharp rise in its tourism. Nigel had even heard witches in Hogsmeade refer happily to Miss Julie’s famous pasties and crème cakes. Having eaten more than his share of Miss Julie’s treats, Nigel couldn’t argue with them on that score.

The little bell over the door tinkled lightly as Nigel entered the shop. Miss Julie, a stout lady of fifty-five, dressed in her usual white cotton shirt-dress and blue apron, hurried to the counter to take Nigel’s order.

“Good morning, Nigel,” she said jovially. “I expect you’re here for the usual raisin scone with double butter?”

“Lightly warmed, of course,” he retorted with a wink. “And make that a dozen. I’m going visiting today.”

“Ah! Lovely,” she replied as she filled a pink bakery box with fresh scones. They smelled like heaven. Nigel could almost taste them as he watched her at work. “Friends?”

“And family,” he said. “My cousin doesn’t live far from here.”

“That’s nice,” she said. “It’s always nice to keep up with family. By the way, love, how are you feeling these days? You were in that horrible accident. Oh! I remember how the village was all in uproar when you were hurt. Your poor mum was nearly beside herself for so long, and your schoolmates!”

Nigel shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He didn’t like hearing about the pain his friends felt over his accident—too many bad memories there. “I’m much better, thanks,” he said, trying to sound casual. “I still get some pain in my back and my legs, but I’ve kept up with physical therapy, so I healed a lot over the last couple of years.”

“You were gone a while, weren’t you? Your mum said you were at boarding school last year.”

“My cousin teaches there, and he wanted me to take a year with him at his school. It was wonderful.”

“Hogwarts, right?”

Nigel blanched. It couldn’t be that she knew about Hogwarts, could it?

“Uh, yeah, that’s the place.”

Miss Julie tied the box shut with a bit of string and handed it to Nigel. “That’s five pounds sixty.”

Nigel reached into his pocket to grab some change, inadvertently pulling out a mixture of British pounds and wizard gold. Miss Julie looked at the strange coins with curiosity. She grinned.

“No Sickles accepted here, love, only British pounds,” she said.

Nigel blanched again. How did she know what a Sickle was? “Sorry, what did you say?” he asked.

“You heard me, Nigel. No wizard currency accepted here. Only British pounds.” She winked at him.

Nigel hated to ask the question, but… “Are you…a witch?” he whispered suspiciously, though they were entirely alone in the shop.

Miss Julie chuckled. “No, dear, I’m not. You know a Madame Rosmerta? From Hogsmeade?”

“Sure, I know her.”

“She’s been a client of mine for years. Anyway, a few years ago, I found out that my nephew, my sister’s son, was a wizard. I think he’s your year—do you know a Justin?”

“Of course! Justin Finch-Fletchley?”

“His parents were devastated when they learned he was a wizard. It was awful. His father, my brother-in-law, had Justin down for Eton, so when he got that letter from Hogwarts, they had no idea what to do. I already knew that Rosmerta was a witch, so I talked it over with her.”

“And she advised you to tell your sister to…” Nigel started.

Miss Julie nodded. “Exactly.”

“And yet you never let on that you knew about the wizarding world.”

“I know how to keep a secret. Rosmerta make it very plain to me that I must be very hush-hush about poor Justin, so I did. You’re the only one I’ve told.”

“So you never confided in my mother, even though you knew I went to Hogwarts?”

“Like I said, I know how to keep a secret. You can trust me, Nigel. I won’t reveal your world to anyone. If I do that, I put my own nephew in jeopardy, and I won’t do that.”

“Are you a squib, then?” Nigel asked, now curious about Miss Julie and her background.

“Heavens no! We think it came from Justin’s father’s side, actually, though it may go back centuries. Rosmerta tells me magic is always in the blood, even if it’s dormant for a while.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that, too,” Nigel said, pulling the bakery box toward himself.

Miss Julie grinned broadly at him. “Well, have a nice day visiting, love.”

As Nigel made his way down the street, no one much was about, either being off to work in Newcastle or in the surrounding villages. He felt tempted to disapparate in the middle of the street, but quickly thought the better of it. Thus, Nigel headed for Hogwarts the old-fashioned way—walking.

Snape was in a foul mood when Nigel found him in the Staff Room that morning. The entire staff had just finished their back-to-school meeting to set their school-wide goals for the year. Nigel could see by his cousin’s expression that he didn’t entirely get his way.

“Bad morning?” Nigel asked. He offered Snape a scone. Snape snarled at him and snatched a scone out of the box.

“Miss Julie’s?” he asked, taking a bite.

“You know about Miss Julie?” Nigel asked.

“She’s Finch-Fletchley’s aunt,” Snape replied, his mouth full of scone. “Didn’t you know that?”

“Sure I did…well, she told me today,” Nigel confessed. “So, you ready for the monsters?”

Snape rolled his eyes and stuffed the rest of the scone into his mouth. He gestured at Nigel to follow him down to the dungeons. They stopped briefly at the Great Hall so Nigel could drop off the box of scones for the teachers who sat at the top table, jotting down start-of-the-year lesson plans and words of wisdom for the new and returning students. The arrival of Miss Julie’s scones was a welcome sight, and everyone at the table thanked Nigel roundly for his gift.

The atmosphere in the Potions classroom hadn’t changed much, once again bearing the stamp of his cousin’s dour personality. The room was as dark and dank as ever, with none of the rather ostentatious touches Professor Slughorn had added to the room the previous year. But Slughorn was gone now, once again retired, which made Nigel a little relieved. It wasn’t that he disliked Slughorn, because he didn’t at all. Perhaps it was family loyalty. All Nigel knew was that his cousin was the most talented and rigourous Potions teacher the students could ever hope for, and that under Snape’s tutelage, they would learn so much more.

Nigel rummaged through the Potions storeroom for all the ingredients he would need for the Shield Potion, carefully transporting each item to his workspace in the classroom.

“You’re short on dittany,” Nigel commented, forking out a generous supply of dragon scales. “These fresh?” he asked.

Snape glanced over and nodded, returning his attention to Nigel’s meticulous directions for the Shield Potion. “How are you cutting up the boartongue root?”

“I do seven centimetre-thick slices, plus an extra three grains,” Nigel replied, digging for more ingredients. He emerged from the storeroom with a large jar of white powder.

“Don’t use it all,” Snape complained. “I need that for lessons tomorrow!”

“I only need a teaspoon,” Nigel said. “Too much of this stuff and the whole potion is rubbish.”

Nigel quickly got to work brewing the potion. It felt good, natural, almost second nature. Some of Nigel’s best memories of his last two years were right in that very room, learning and perfecting the fine art and science of potion-making. As he added the white powder, the bubbling potion turned a pale, steel blue. It smelled a little of peppercorns. Nigel smiled contentedly.

“Almost done,” he said. “Now it just needs time to set on a low flame. Four hours should do it.” He took the four-hour glass and turned it over, to mark the time.

Snape glanced into the cauldron and nodded. “You haven’t lost your touch, Chaucer,” he said, impressed. “You made quite a lot. This should last your parents a good six months.”

“That’s the idea,” Nigel replied. “In fact, I’d like to make another six-month supply in a week or two. I’ll bring my own ingredients, though. I promise.”

“You can use whatever you like,” Snape said.

They took a stroll up to the Great Hall, where they watched the rest of the Staff and the House Elves made ready for the start of term feast. Hagrid was busy lugging an impressive tree down the centre aisle, toward the front of the Hall, where he intended to set it up in a gigantic planter. Nigel was impressed by the care and dexterity Hagrid used as he handled the massive object. House Elves busied themselves polishing the House tables and benches, mopping the stone floor and washing the windows, while Madame Pomfrey and Professor Grubbly-Plank oversaw the place-settings at the Staff table, making sure the plates and flatware were spotless.

“I never knew how much work went into this,” Nigel mused.

Snape snorted derisively. “Thought it was all magic, did you?”

* * * * *

“Perfect!” Nigel exclaimed, removing the finished potion from the low flame. He set it into a bath of ice-cold water for another four hours. “There. I’ll decant it after the Feast is over.”

“Why are you so keen on seeing a Sorting?” Snape queried.

“Well, my own Sorting was…well…unusual.”

Snape nodded. “True. I don’t remember a time when we ever had a mid-year, solitary Sorting. You did have a way of drawing attention to yourself.”

“Very funny, Severus,” Nigel said. “And the Sorting last year was sort of tainted. It nearly turned into a brawl.”

As the Feast began, Nigel was invited to sit at the Staff table with Snape and the other professors. It felt strange to look out at the student body from the opposite direction. Nigel was no longer a peer, but rather, an adult, a Ministry Official. Many of the younger students looked at him as such, with a sort of vague awe, though most of the Sixth and Seventh Years gave Nigel friendly smiles and grins. Nigel felt tempted to go and sit at the Slytherin table with his Seventh Year friends and a returning Gregory Goyle, who had to repeat his N.E.W.T. year, but he resisted. Nigel understood that he had to keep a certain distance now, a sort of professional reserve which made him more than a bit uncomfortable.

There she was, amongst a sea of Gryffindors, looking more beautiful than he had ever seen her. Her long red hair glowed richly in the candlelight, and Nigel found he couldn’t keep his eyes off her delicate features and warm smile. He remembered that one and only kiss he shared with Ginny more than a year ago, and how bitter he felt when she had rejected him in favour of Harry Potter. But Harry was all the way in London, and as far as Nigel knew, had never resumed his relationship with Ginny. That gave Nigel some hope.

What would Arthur say? Gods! What would Molly say?

Professor McGonagall stood up to quiet the students down, then signaled for Madame Sprout to lead in the new First Years. In they marched, in straight lines, mingled looks of excitement, curiosity and sheer fright on their young faces. Nigel couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of the little ones as they gathered at the foot of dais, upon which rested the Sorting Hat and the low stool where the Sorting took place.

There were some familiar names in the mix, including a McMillan, another Creevey, a Lestrange, a Prewett…and a Prince. Nigel and Snape looked at each other in alarm as little raven-haired Gwendolyn Prince was called up to be sorted into Slytherin. Nigel leaned over to his cousin.

“Could it be?” he whispered.

“I suppose,” Snape replied.

“That would be nice, to have another cousin around,” Nigel said.

Snape snarled impatiently. “One is too many,” he grumbled.

After the Sorting ended, the real feasting began. Nigel filled his plate with roast beef, potatoes, peas, Yorkshire pudding. He ate as if he would never see food again.

“Slow down, Chaucer,” Remus Lupin said. “We’ve got plenty!”

“I’m starving! I haven’t eaten a bit since that scone this morning!”

“How’s all that Taylor business going, anyway?” Lupin asked. “I heard about your injury. You alright?”

“Fine. Just fine. It spooked the Minister, though. He made me take time away to recover.”

“Well it looks like you got your appetite back!”

As the feast came to a glorious end, Professor McGonagall stood up to make her Start of Term speech. Everyone quieted down for her to speak. She thanked them all for their attention, and expressed her joy at their safe return to Hogwarts. Then, she introduced the new teacher…

“Professor Sophia Maimonides, who will be your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher!”

Miss Maimonides stood up briefly to make herself known to the applauding students. Nigel caught the slightest look of admiration from his cousin as he gazed at her from his seat to her right. Nigel nudged Snape’s foot under the table and sniggered. Snape kicked him back, hard.

Professor McGonagall continued. “I would also like to welcome a very special guest this evening, straight from the Ministry of Magic. Most of you know him well, as he was our Head Boy last year, and of course I’m sure you all read about his spectacular arrests of sixty-five dark wizards just last week. Welcome back, Nigel Chaucer!”

The students all rose to their feet in thunderous applause. A very red-faced Nigel rose briefly to acknowledge the grand ovation. To his horror, McGonagall waved him over to the podium. Snape elbowed Nigel sharply.

“Go on, Chaucer,” he purred sardonically. “Don’t miss your moment in the limelight.”

“You suck, Snape,” Nigel hissed. He rose and stepped over to a beaming Minerva McGonagall.

“Welcome back, Nigel,” she said ostentatiously. “Perhaps you could offer our students a few words this evening?”

Nigel had no idea what to say. He hated these awkward moments, especially when he was expected to be brilliant on the spot. Too sated by his huge meal, Nigel would have rather retreated to Slytherin House, where he could take a long snooze on the couch in the common room. But no. The public awaited his words of wisdom, and so, his mind scrambling for something relevant, Nigel began.

“Thank you, Headmistress,” he said graciously. “It is a privilege to be back here at Hogwarts. Surely, this is the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the entire world!” The students applauded in vigorous agreement. 

Nigel struggled for something else. “I guess I’d like to say that we are living in an interesting and challenging time. As we all know, the Dark Lord Voldemort is dead and gone…”

More wild applause.

“…and yet,” Nigel continued, “the wizarding world is not entirely at peace, though I wish we were. There is still a faction out there who wishes to take control of our world, a faction which does not have your best interests at heart. These are individuals who wish to impose their limited and dangerous view of the wizarding world on the rest of us, and to steal from us the purity of who we are as a community. All of us at Hogwarts worked very hard last year at unifying the entire student body, regardless of House. For the first time in centuries, members of formally opposing Houses became friends, and the notion of House tables suddenly became something archaic and old-fashioned. Indeed, these are new times, a new age. My wish for you is to continue this movement toward unity, and to strengthen it, no matter what. As we continue to face threats against peace in our world, our unity as a school is all the more crucial for our survival as witches and wizards. Thus, I encourage you to be open and compassionate toward each other, no matter what House you live in. Love each other, support each other, and continue to learn to be good friends. Thank you.”

Nigel stepped back with a casual wave as the students rose again with wild applause. McGonagall quickly dismissed the students to return to their Houses and the Staff to their own rooms and offices. Nigel, along with the rest, rose to go out of the Great Hall, but suddenly, he stopped at the sight of Ginny, who was talking to Luna Lovegood next to the Slytherin table. Nigel decided to take a chance.

“Ginny!” he called, waving to her.

She glanced over and smiled brightly. “Nigel! You look great! So well recovered! Dad told me the whole story, and of course, we all read about you in the paper this week.”

Luna excused herself and returned to Ravenclaw House. Up close, Nigel couldn’t help but stare openly at Ginny.

“So how are you?” she asked. “Dad says you’re doing brilliantly at the Ministry. Proud to work with you.”

“Anything I’ve accomplished is largely because of him, mostly,” Nigel said. “He’s a godsend to me. Say, uh, is your mum…”

Ginny grinned. “She’s had a conversion recently.”

“A conversion? Is she suddenly religious?”

“Goodness no!” Ginny exclaimed. “But she is somewhat more open to you, thank the gods.” She giggled. “It was so funny! When the story of all those arrests came out in the paper last week, Dad read the entire thing to her, and he kept saying, ‘See? I told you!’”

“So she knows I’m not the enemy?” he asked, trying to mask his annoyance.

“She knows. I think she always did. She’s just looking out for Dad is all.”

That sounded good. “Hey, I’m so sorry I had to steal your father away from the wedding. I feel just awful about that.”

“Don’t worry about that, Nigel,” Ginny replied. “We understood the emergency. Even Mum understood. She didn’t like it much, but she understood. She doesn’t hate you, you know. She never did.”

“I’m glad,” Nigel said. “Listen, Ginny, I’ve got something to ask you.” He hedged a bit, but quickly gathered up his courage. “I was wondering if you and I could maybe…go out again. Unless you and Harry are back together or something, I mean, when you weren’t together at the wedding, I sort of assumed you two were on a sort of break.”

Ginny sighed. “I can’t make any promises to you, Nigel,” she said. “I’d love to see you again, I really would, but for now, it really needs to be as good friends. I still remember that date you and I had a couple of years ago. Harry and I have a lot of unresolved issues, but I don’t think that should interfere with you and I having a good time together.”

Nigel wasn’t totally satisfied with that response, but he knew he had to start somewhere. The last thing he wanted was to be a homewrecker. After all, Harry was his good friend, too. It was bad enough that Nigel had made things so uncomfortable for the Weasleys, but he didn’t want to do that to Harry, too. On the other hand, if Ginny really was single again, and if she really liked him…

For the moment, they left it as an open question—besides, Ginny needed permission from McGonagall to leave Hogwarts on non-Hogsmeade weekends, and as Nigel thought about it, he started to realise that perhaps he needed to have a talk with Harry, just to see where Harry thought he and Ginny stood. Nigel couldn’t imagine a more uncomfortable conversation, but the more he went over it in his mind, the more he saw that it was the only way for him to know for sure, man-to-man, whether starting something with Ginny was the right thing to do.

Nigel returned to the Potions classroom to collect his potion and dispense it into small phials. It was perfect, stunning, the best thing he had ever done. He worried briefly during the Feast that he might have let it sit too long in the ice bath. As it turned out, that bit of extra time was just what the potion needed for the ingredients to settle together. Nigel entered the darkened room, but paused at a strange sound. He listened carefully, trying to discern what it was. Was that a woman’s voice he heard? Was that a kittenish giggle emanating from the office next door? Nigel grinned and lit the torches in the room. As he quietly and carefully decanted the potion into phials, he heard another girlish giggle, and then a decidedly male laugh. Nigel rolled his eyes and continued his work, desperate to know just what was going on in that room.

The last phial filled and securely corked, Nigel placed them carefully into a bag made of thick velvet, which he slung over his shoulder. As he turned to extinguish the torches and leave, he heard the woman’s voice moan in what Nigel was sure was some sort of ecstasy. Chuckling to himself, Nigel put out the torches, walked noiselessly out of the room and shut the door behind him.


	12. Viva Las Vegas!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel, Draco, Zabini and Crabbe apparate to Las Vegas to raise a little Slytherin hell during Halloween, but when Nigel meets a pretty girl at one of the hotels, everything changes...

How confusing! Stuck at home, all Nigel wanted was to get back into the action back at the Ministry. But as he apparated to the Ministry Monday morning, all Nigel wanted was to be back in his bed, safe and warm. Well, there he was, back in the thick of things, ready to face the next impossible set of challenges for the day. Even the scone from Miss Julie’s he had stuck in his mouth before apparating brought him no comfort. There was nothing to be done but work.

The second he reached the threshold of his office, the scone now half-eaten, Nigel was deluged with new and important information from Arthur, Hermione, Donna, the Minister, Gawain Robards and also from Ernestine Doyle, from _The Daily Prophet_. Each person thrust a stack of parchments into Nigel’s hand for his perusal. The most interesting of these was Hermione’s preliminary report on the property holdings of Geoffrey Taylor. In typical Hermione fashion, the report was neatly written, meticulously detailed, perfectly organised. Nigel was truly impressed by the sheer skills that Hermione possessed. She even found out about his bank account! Nigel was even more impressed.

Taylor held three properties in London and one in Cambridge. Two of the London properties were apartment houses, and one was a warehouse near the Thames. The property in Cambridge, Taylor’s residence, was a cottage not far from the university. That concerned Nigel. On the one hand, he could see no reason for Taylor to have anything to do with the university, but on the other hand, considering the pamphlet that Morgana Verdi had read. This was a man who seemed to have no problem revealing himself to and harming any muggle who crossed his path. Nigel wondered whether he should warn Lucy.

“I would,” Hermione said. “Would you like me to do it, Nigel?”

“I can’t have you do that,” Nigel replied. “I’ll do it as soon as I can.”

“Well don’t wait too long,” she said. “Especially if Taylor finds out that she was your girlfriend. Then you’ll have to make a Shield Potion for her as well.”

Nigel’s heart sank. He never thought he’d be in such a position, where his friends and family could be in danger simply by association with him. Nigel set down the report and sat back in his chair, trying desperately to make sense of it all. He suddenly had a terrible headache.

“I think I need another week off,” he mourned. “Severus told me about a sort of bet they all have.”

Hermione nodded. “I heard about it. How are you going to handle this?”

“I have no idea,” Nigel confessed. “I made that potion for my parents, but wasn’t thinking about anyone else. If they’re willing to harm my parents to call me out, I’m sure they’re willing to hurt my friends, too. Even you, or Draco, or Harry, or Blaise…” He gulped. “Or Ginny.”

“Ginny’s safe at Hogwarts,” Hermione assured him.

“Well yeah, as long as she’s in the castle, but what if she and I…” But he stopped himself, knowing he had said too much.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You do know that she and Harry…”

“I’m not trying to steal her away or anything, Hermione.”

“That’s a relief.”

Nigel frowned. “Afraid the power had gone to my head?” he snapped.

“Maybe.” Before Nigel could retort, Hermione spoke again. “You’re a good man, Nigel. I know you’re not like that. Really. Just be careful.”

Nigel was desperate to change the subject. He wished he hadn’t brought up Ginny at all. What was he thinking, mentioning her to Hermione of all people? And what about Arthur? Dear gods, if Arthur ever suspected that Nigel was interested in his darling daughter? What would he say? What would his wife say? Maybe this was a bad idea.

And still, Nigel couldn’t get the vision of Ginny’s soft red tresses, tumbling in gentle waves over her delicate shoulders. As much as he tried to rid his mind of thoughts of her, her image kept floating back into his mind’s eye.

As the week progressed, Nigel became deeply entrenched in all the details and developments of the Taylor case. By the start of the following week, Nigel and his team had tracked Taylor’s followers to twelve different locations around Britain. The only problem was that they all associated with different groups. It wasn’t just Malus or Acheryn, but several other cell groups, all of which held the same philosophy preached by Taylor: reveal your magical identity and use it against anyone who stands in your way. Use magic as a weapon to gain local power and beyond.

The main problem that arose for Nigel and his team was that, the more deeply they investigated Taylor, the more followers they found in more places. Now it was fifteen locations, then eighteen, twenty-four, twenty-nine, thirty-six. None of these groups was terribly large, but their sheer numbers expanded almost exponentially as time went on and as the arrests waned. Furthermore, Heroditus Q had become just as elusive as Geoffrey Taylor, which compounded Nigel’s frustration. All he could do was to keep his eyes open for another murder by blue pill and hope that it might get him closer to an arrest. By the end of October, Nigel felt increasingly inept. Sure, he had made some spectacular arrests, but it seemed that after that occurred, the rest of Taylor’s disciples had gone into hiding, incapable of being discovered by anyone from the Ministry.

It didn’t help things much that _The Daily Prophet_ had started once again to turn against Nigel and the Ministry. With few leads and less action, the newspaper began publishing editorials questioning the Minister’s judgement in placing a “young boy” such as Nigel into such an important post. The following week, they questioned Nigel’s maturity and his competency, going so far as to call Nigel an immature child who was more lucky than talented. And, the article continued, as a Slytherin and close friend of two former Death Eaters, Nigel’s motives were highly suspect. His spirits flagged under the sharp criticism.

The only comfort Nigel got these days was the promise of a raucous time with Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini, neither of whom he had seen in far too long. Nigel had no idea what his friends had planned for the three of them, but he felt assured that it would involve plenty of liquor, pretty girls, and an exotic location. All that came as a welcome relief to Nigel—the situation had grown so serious and intense that he could barely sleep these days. He was fraught with worry and anxiety over the situation as he tried to figure out when the next attack would take place.

* * * * *

Malfoy Manor had been entirely transformed since Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had gone off to Azkaban. Draco spent a good part of the summer renovating the mansion—gone were the thick draperies and tapestries which were so reminiscent of the bad old days. He replaced much of the cold stone floors with rich woods and soft, elegant Persian rugs filled with colour and interest. Draco took an impressed Nigel, Blaise and an unexpected Vincent Crabbe on a tour of the place, pointing out all the new additions he had brought in from his travels through the Continent.

Blaise chuckled. “Are you really that bored? Since when are you so interested in home restoration, Draco?” he asked with a smirk.

“Since I can finally be proud of my home,” Draco shot back.

Crabbe laughed his usual sycophantic guffaw. Draco rolled his eyes and led them to the salon, where the House Elf had just laid out tea and biscuits. Draco went to the sideboard and pulled out a dusty purple bottle, which he uncorked. The scent of orange liqueur wafted past Nigel’s nose. His eyes watered just a little.

“This stuff is about fifty years old,” Draco said, almost secretly. “Father acquired it in some shady way. Shame to waste it. It’ll make the tea much less conventional.” He poured out a little of the liquid into each man’s teacup, including his own.

Nigel lifted the cup to his lips, but suddenly stopped. What about the bet? No, Draco would never do that. Would he? Hadn’t Draco reformed his evil ways, renounced his father and his status as a Death Eater? But what if he were itching for a little action, somehow trying to relive his old days when he was still the glory of Slytherin House? Then again, he poured the same liquid into Blaise and Crabbe’s teacups, too, and into his own. Nigel dismissed those thoughts as paranoia. He emptied the contents of the teacup in one gulp. The others followed suit.

“So what’s the plan, Malfoy?” Blaise asked eagerly. “I say we apparate to some small village and scare the muggles! It is Halloween, after all!”

“Why would we want to scare the muggles?” Nigel asked.

“Just a bit of fun, right?” Blaise replied. “Come on, Nigel, don’t be an old fuddy-duddy!”

“Sounds fun to me,” Crabbe echoed. “We could do the Bat Bogey Hex on them!”

“I don’t want to spend my time attacking muggles,” Nigel said, irritated. “Why would you want to attack muggles?”

Blaise frowned. “Gods, Nigel, you make it sound like we’re out for blood. It’s just a bit of fun! That’s all!”

Nigel shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t do that. My whole job is about arresting people who want to mess with muggles, and…”

“Just one minute,” Blaise snapped, affronted. “If you’re trying to compare me with Geoffrey Taylor’s followers, then you and I need to clear the air.”

“No! I’m not saying that,” Nigel said defencively. “Honestly, Blaise, I don’t think you’re like that.”

“Well you had better not,” he replied harshly.

“Look, guys, let’s calm down, alright?” Draco pleaded. “Let’s keep this light, yeah? Actually, my idea was to apparate to Monte Carlo. I know a place where we can exchange Galleons for Francs, and then we can gamble and drink and have a good time.”

“Sounds great,” Nigel said. “I’m in.”

“Me, too,” Crabbe said. “I just got paid this week.”

“Just don’t gamble your life savings away, alright, Crabbe?” Blaise said. “I’m in, too. And I’m sorry I took your head off, Chaucer. No hard feelings, right?”

“No hard feelings, Blaise.” Suddenly, Nigel had a thought. “Hey, guys, how about Las Vegas?”

Draco’s face brightened. “Excellent! Showgirls, wild night…”

“Hang on,” Blaise interjected. “You can’t drink or gamble in Vegas unless you’re twenty-one.”

“Oh yeah,” Nigel said glumly.

But Draco would not be disabused of the idea. “Come on, boys,” he announced. “We’re going to Vegas for Halloween!”

“How will we get into the casinos?” Blaise asked.

“Just leave that to me,” Draco replied wickedly.

* * * * *

None of the four wizards had ever seen anything quite like the glittering lights and fantasy atmosphere of Las Vegas. They apparated right into the midst of a thick crowd, confident that none of the tourists and gamblers would notice. They were absolutely right—no one seemed to mark their sudden and unexplained appearance, nor did anyone stop to consider that anything had changed at all.

“Let’s go!” Draco exclaimed.

The first casino the four Slytherins entered was packed with gamblers of all ages, from university students to octogenarians, drinking heavily, gambling recklessly, not thinking to track the passage of time as they laid all their money on the tables.

The four wizards had no idea what to do.

“Come on, Chaucer,” Blaise said. “You used to be a muggle. What do we do now?”

Nigel shrugged. “I’ve never been to a casino before. I have no idea. I guess we need chips, right?”

Crabbe dug into his pockets. “All’s I got is Galleons,” he said.

Draco chuckled knowingly and plunged his hand into his jacket pocket, producing a fistful of gambling chips.

“Wait,” Nigel said, “don’t the chips look different for each casino?”

“Not to worry,” Draco replied smoothly. He strode over to the crowded Craps table and glanced quickly at the chips piled on number 7. Returning to the others, he waved his hand over his chips, so that they took on the appearance of those officially from the casino.

“Perfect!” Blaise exclaimed.

Draco distributed the chips equally amongst the friends, and off they headed to the poker table. This was a game that really interested Nigel. Some of his muggle friends talked a lot about poker, but Nigel had never tried it before. He tried to remember the rules of what beat what, and how to place your bet. With a little trepidation, Nigel sidled up to the table and took his seat next to an elderly man in a cowboy hat and a middle aged woman who had clearly had way too much to drink. Everyone anted up.

The first set of cards Nigel received were a 2 of diamonds, a 3 of spades, a 5 of spades, a Queen of diamonds and an Ace of clubs. OK, no royal flush likely. Nigel deliberated which cards to cast off.

Queen of diamonds for sure—the other ones looked rather promising. Nigel deliberated that if he got a four of anything, he’d get a Straight, which would be a good thing, so long as no one else got a Full House or Four of a Kind. The temptation to use magic to get a four was overwhelming, but for the moment, Nigel resisted. The complexities of the game were far more interesting for him, so that even when he lost the first hand, he cast in more chips for a second hand.

He lost that one, too.

OK, now Nigel was getting annoyed. Even though the chips had been conjured and thus held no real value, he was determined to win. He looked at his new hand of cards: Ace of spades, King of spades, Jack of spades, eight of clubs, three of hearts. The choice was easy—get rid of the eight and the three. As it stood, Nigel had nothing, not even three of a kind. He thought about his next bet and decided to stay in the game, hoping that he would either get two pairs or a Royal Flush.

And then, he got a wicked idea. Using just a little Legilimency, Nigel determined who had what card. What he learned was discouraging. One person already had the Queen of spades, and didn’t seem ready to let her go. Nigel folded.

“I think I’ve had enough,” he said, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet.

No sooner had Nigel stepped away from the table that a very burly, bald casino security guard approached the four wizards, an angry expression on his round face.

“You boys got I.D’s?” he asked.

Nigel, Blaise and Vincent reacted instinctively, ready to confess their sin and to allow themselves to be kicked out of the casino. But Draco wasn’t so ready. He blithely reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a posh designer wallet, producing what looked to Nigel like an identity card, stating flatly that Draco was at least twenty-one years old.

“Sorry about that, mate,” he said smoothly to the guard. “We’re taking our friend here out for his twenty-first. You understand surely, don’t you, sir?” Draco asked, making the most of his refined British accent.

The guard looked a little at odds for a moment. But then he grinned at the four wizards and stepped back. “Sorry about that, sir,” he said. “We have to check, by law. Gotta keep kids outta here.”

“I completely understand,” Draco said sympathetically. He patted the guard on the shoulder and returned to the others. Nigel and Blaise could barely keep themselves from bursting out laughing. Vincent just looked confused.

Hey,” Blaise said, “how about we check out those showgirls?”

They walked through other parts of the hotel, goggling at the bright lights and garish displays in all the shop windows. The four wizards had never seen such an ostentatious display of sheer material flash. Women of all ages passed them by, many of them throwing them seductive looks. Vincent could barely contain himself, especially when a particularly pretty blonde woman gazed alluringly at him. He blushed deeply. Blaise pulled him along.

“Come on, big boy,” he laughed. Vincent reluctantly tagged along, looking over his shoulder one more time before the girl rounded the corner, out of sight.

“Aren’t we on the pull tonight?” Vincent asked hopefully.

“Are we?” Nigel asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Vincent replied.

Draco frowned. “We’re not on the pull, Crabbe. You don’t want to get involved with these people, do you?”

“You mean these muggles?” Nigel asked, trying to mask his annoyance.

“I mean these tourists,” Draco corrected him sharply.

“We’re tourists,” Blaise reminded him.

“We’re just here for one evening, Zabini,” Draco said. “That hardly qualifies us as tourists.”

Nigel laughed. “You’re right, Malfoy. We’re more like teetotalers, sampling the muggle buffet.”

Vincent’s eyes widened. “Is there a buffet here? I could go for a snack.”

What should have been a small snack on the way to see the showgirls turned into a full-scale, five course meal for the wizards. It started off so simply at the buffet, with a couple of sandwiches and some Buffalo wings covered in Ranch sauce. But then Draco added shrimp in garlic butter and a plate of roast beef, and Nigel found enchiladas and made a huge pile of nachos the taco bar. Zabini brought chips and sauce and as many slices of pepperoni pizza he could stack onto a plate. The four of them washed it all down with Cokes and lemonade.

“This cola stuff is pretty good,” Zabini said. “I tried some once in Rome, but Mum refuses to buy any for the house. She says she won’t have that muggle stuff anywhere near her.”

Vincent spilled nacho cheese down the front of his shirt, which Nigel vanished as discreetly as he could manage.

“Watch it, Chaucer,” Draco said, eyeing a group of pretty girls sitting in a nearby booth. “Don’t let the muggles see you doing that.”

“I think Crabbe’s shirt is cleaner than it was at the start of the evening!” Zabini exclaimed. They all laughed, including Vincent. “Say, Chaucer, I’m going to bring all my shirts to you, mate!”

As they talked and laughed and made jokes at Goyle’s and Pansy’s expense, the evening passed rather peacefully for the Slytherins. Nigel spotted a very pretty brunette girl, probably his own age or a bit older, throwing him kittenish glances from across the room. He smiled coyly at her. When the boys moved to leave the buffet and head for the show, Nigel noticed that the girl also rose from her seat and said something to the other two girls with her. She walked in his direction, so Nigel paused to let her approach.

“I’ll catch up to you guys,” Nigel said to his friends. He waved them off so he could be alone with this very pretty girl. Her eyes were almost amber, and her lips were soft and full. Nigel could imagine himself kissing her deeply.

“I thought I recognised you,” she said. “You’re Nigel Chaucer, aren’t you?” she asked.

Nigel blanched. “I didn’t realise I was that notorious,” he replied coolly, trying desperately to sound something like Malfoy.

“Oh, you’re very famous,” she cooed. “I’m Krista.”

“Are you a…uh…you know,” Nigel stammered.

“A witch? Of course!”

“But you went to school here in America, right? At a wizard school here?”

“Just until I was fourteen,” she said. “I went to muggle high school. Horrible place!”

“So how do you know about me?” Nigel asked.

“We know all about you in New Mexico,” Krista replied. “I wasn’t sure if it was really you, but when I saw you do that bit of magic on your friend, I knew I was right. That was very brave of you.”

Nigel felt rather flattered by that. He noticed himself standing a bit taller than he had before. “Well, it wasn’t a big deal. Just a favour for a friend.”

“But doing it in front of muggles,” she said. “That was wonderful! More muggles should see that sort of thing and follow your example. It’s time we came out of hiding, don’t you think?”

That struck a sour note with Nigel. “And why would you think that?” he asked, looking into her eyes. What he saw in her mind through Legilimency disturbed him so deeply and so violently, that he turned completely from her, suppressing a horrified gasp.

“Are you alright?” she asked, concerned.

Nigel recovered his composure and faced her again. “Sorry,” he said. “A bit of heartburn. Too many nachos. So you’re from New Mexico? Taos?”

She giggled. “Actually, yes.”

“Interesting. And what do you do with yourself in Taos?” he asked flirtatiously.

“Oh, this and that,” she replied.

“Let’s sit down together,” Nigel said, leading her to an intimate booth. He stood ready to defend himself at a moment’s notice, just in case she had something terrible planned for him. They sat nice and close. Krista snuggled up to Nigel and placed a friendly hand on his thigh. Nigel let her for the moment.

“So what brings you to Las Vegas?” she asked.

“Just here to raise a bit of hell,” he replied casually. “Halloween stuff and all.”

“Sounds like fun. You should put antlers on all the security guards in this place.” She screeched with laughter. Nigel didn’t join her.

“I was thinking more along the line of seeing some half-naked showgirls and getting drunk, actually,” he admitted.

Krista stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “Oh come on, live a little! It’ll be fun!” She squeezed his thigh again, a little higher up. “And if you do, I’ll make the whole night very worthwhile,” she whispered seductively in his ear. Suddenly, she jumped up.

“What?” Nigel said, taken aback.

“Ladies room,” she tittered. “Watch my bag?”

Nigel noted the black, glittery clutch she had placed on the seat between them. He wondered what was inside. Was it filled with innocent items, lipstick, compact, mobile phone, breath mints, or was there something more sinister inside? With a simple move of his index finger, the bag opened and Nigel peered inside. Nothing. Lipstick, compact, mobile phone, two condoms, cinnamon chewing gum. Nigel waggled his little finger so the inside pocket of the clutch opened, revealing a small purple velvet bag. It could be nothing, totally unrelated to anything evil. Or it could be another blue pill, perhaps intended for him.

Naturally, he couldn’t touch it. Snape had assured him that even touching the pill was lethal. How to figure out the contents of the bag safely? And then he knew. With a quick wave of the hand, Nigel vanished the little bag to his desk drawer at the Ministry. Then, he shut the bag with a final sweep of his finger—and just in time. Krista bounded back from the ladies room, ready to party. But Nigel wasn’t so ready.

“Listen, Krista,” he said, “why don’t you and I just stay here and talk a bit more. I like talking with you.”

“Why don’t we go to my room? I’m much friendlier there.”

He chuckled. “If I knew you for more than ten minutes, I might take you up on it,” he joked.

“Oh, you’re one of those proper types of men.”

“Somewhat. Sorry if that’s a bit boring.”

She smiled wickedly. “Do more magic! Turn my glass into a porcupine! Make it breathe fire!”

Nigel laughed. “I think even in Las Vegas, that would stand out way too much.”

“Don’t you want to express your pride in being a wizard?”

“What does that have to do with it?” Nigel asked. “Can’t I be proud without making a show of myself?”

“What’s the point?” Krista asked, now a little annoyed. “Why be a wizard if you have to keep your powers a dark secret so the muggles don’t burn you at the stake?”

“I doubt the muggles are going to do that, Krista,” Nigel sighed.

“Of course they are!” she raved. “I read all about it!”

“Well whatever Geoffrey Taylor may have written isn’t necessarily the truth,” he retorted.

Krista grabbed her bag and stood up, visibly furious. But then her face softened, and she turned to face Nigel, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry, Nigel,” she said in an overly girlish voice. “I suddenly have a terrible headache. I think I’d better retire for the night. It was nice to meet you.”

After she left, Nigel rushed to the theatre to find his friends. The show was well underway when Nigel apparated into the back of the audience. An array of feathered, star-studded, bare-breasted showgirls pranced up and down the stage in very high heels, singing and dancing and working the crowd into wild applause and cheering. Nigel looked up and down for Draco and the others, only to spot his blond friend on the end of the row of seats, fondling some pretty girl in a black dress who sat next to him, draped dramatically over his shoulders. Blaise and Vincent, Nigel now saw, sat on the other side of the girl, engrossed in the spectacle on stage.

Nigel crept down the aisle, toward Draco, squatting next to him.

“Chaucer!” Draco crowed. “We thought maybe you got a bonk out of that American girl!”

“I’ve got to go, Draco,” he said in a low voice. “Ministry stuff.”

Draco turned sharply in his seat and glared at Nigel. “What?” he cried. “Can’t you leave it for a day? Come on, we’re having a good time! Ashley here is going to show us the view of Vegas from her room!”

Nigel chuckled at that. “Standing up or lying down?”

“You can’t leave, Chaucer. She’s got loads of friends who are just dying to entertain four fabulous young specimens such as ourselves.”

Nigel shook his head reluctantly. “I’m really sorry, mate. Something just came up and I need to take care of it directly. It can’t wait.”

“Fucking tosser!” Draco spat resentfully.

* * * * *

Alone in his office at the Ministry, Nigel poured over Hermione’s meticulous notes on Geoffrey Taylor, adding to it one phrase: _Possible American followers?_


	13. The Secretary of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The following morning, an exhausted Nigel apparated to Washington, D.C., to visit the American Secretary of Magic. Aside from his all too brief visit to Las Vegas the previous night, this was Nigel’s first trip to the United States. He landed with a soft pop! in an empty stairwell in the Capitol Building, and made his way down to the first floor. The lobby of the Capitol Building was alive with activity—legislators arriving to the office, secretaries, pages, tourists, military men, reporters, all milling about, rushing in every direction. It wasn’t so different from the Ministry of Magic, or so Nigel thought as he stood there near a security guard, wondering just how he was to find the Secretary of Magic._
> 
> _Could he just ask? Would the security guards even know what he was talking about?_

The following morning, an exhausted Nigel apparated to Washington, D.C., to visit the American Secretary of Magic. Aside from his all too brief visit to Las Vegas the previous night, this was Nigel’s first trip to the United States. He landed with a soft pop! in an empty stairwell in the Capitol Building, and made his way down to the first floor. The lobby of the Capitol Building was alive with activity—legislators arriving to the office, secretaries, pages, tourists, military men, reporters, all milling about, rushing in every direction. It wasn’t so different from the Ministry of Magic, or so Nigel thought as he stood there near a security guard, wondering just how he was to find the Secretary of Magic.

Could he just ask? Would the security guards even know what he was talking about? Would they laugh or have him chucked out as some sort of kook? Might he even be arrested? Nigel decided to approach the most experienced looking guard for some information. He was a portly, middle-aged man with little hair and a stomach that reminded Nigel of Professor Slughorn.

“Excuse me, sir,” Nigel asked politely.

“Yes, sonny?” But then the guard paused, taking a wide-eyed second look at Nigel. “My goodness, are you Mr. Nigel Chaucer by any chance?”

Another recognition! Incredible! Nigel wondered just how many Americans knew who he was. He suddenly wondered how safe he was. He’d had a close call in Vegas the previous night—who knew what this guard thought about Taylor’s ideas, or even if he knew about them?

The guard grinned. “You must be wondering how I knew about you,” he said congenially.

“You must be…you know…a wizard.”

“Squib actually. My wife, though, she’s a witch.” He chuckled. “I tell my buddies here at work that, and they have no idea what I mean! She reads all the wizard papers, though, even yours.”

“Say,” Nigel started, deciding to be bold, “what do you know about all the Geoffrey Taylor business? Any signs of that stuff here in the States?”

The guard shrugged. “You hear things from time to time, but it’s all talk. We haven’t had no killings here like you did.”

Nigel nodded, his mind racing with ideas. “Listen, uh…can you direct me to the...uh…to the Secretary of…of…uh…Magic?” Nigel said the last word in a very low voice.

“Oh yes,” the guard replied, “that would be on the third floor, in the very back corner of the building. Most people don’t have any idea that office is here, a real part of the US government!”

Naturally it was hidden away. Nigel wondered about Krista’s words as he made his way to the office. He wondered whether the Secretary had an adequate office or if he had to endure cramped quarters and no recognition. Unfortunately, the office was just as he imagined. As Nigel entered the miniscule quarters of the Department of Magic, all he could do was wince in disappointment. A long-nosed witch in a dark blue muggle dress sat at the reception desk, typing on the computer.

“Yes?” she droned.

“I’m here to see the Secretary,” Nigel explained. 

“You got an appointment?”

“No. Sorry. My name is Nigel Chaucer, from the British Ministry of Magic. I work closely with Minister Rufus Scrimgeour.”

Her face suddenly brightened. “Did you say _Nigel Chaucer_?” she asked incredulously, suddenly very friendly.

“Yes. I have a very important matter to discuss with the Secretary.”

The receptionist jumped up and dashed into the adjoining office. After a couple of minutes, the door opened and a small man emerged, dressed in a brown dumpy muggle suit, looking rather overworked. Nigel knew how he felt.

“Are you Secretary Whitman?” Nigel asked.

“Mr. Chaucer, come in,” the Secretary replied jovially.

Nigel quickly explained his business—that he was looking into possible American connections to Geoffrey Taylor and Heroditus Q, neither of whom had yet been apprehended. He explained in detail about the crisis in England, and asked the Secretary whether they had experienced similar troubles in the United States.

“Yes, I’ve heard about Taylor. I read _The Daily Prophet_ almost every day, and I’ve been appalled at what Taylor has been up to these several months. How’s Rufus?”

“Very busy. We all thought things would calm down a bit after the Dark Lord was killed, but things have only gotten worse. And now that Taylor’s followers are using their magic openly in order to frighten and intimidate people, it’s absolutely chaotic. My question to you, Mr. Secretary, is whether you Americans have experienced similar activities. I have reason to believe that something might be going on here.”

Whitman sat back in his old chair and pondered. “Well, not to the extent that you have in Britain. We have had to arrest certain individuals for openly assaulting muggles, but on the other hand, we do that not infrequently.”

“Have you heard the name Geoffrey Taylor thrown about here in the States” Nigel asked.

“Here and there. Nothing terribly significant, though. We were under the impression that Taylor was mostly a threat to British wizards, not Americans. I could very well be wrong.” He blanched a bit at the thought.

“How about Malus?”

“No.”

“Heroditus Q?”

“Hmm…not sure about that. Doesn’t sound that familiar.”

“Have you heard about any activities originating from New Mexico or elsewhere in the West?”

“Actually, there have been a series of strange attacks reported in the Los Angeles and San Francisco areas. Some of our Aurors are looking into that as we speak.”

“And when did all this start?”

“Just two weeks ago. The muggle newspapers reported it first, and when the FBI couldn’t get to the bottom of these attacks, we decided to look ourselves.”

Nigel frowned. “Does the FBI know about your Department?”

“The Director of the FBI knows. Same for the CIA and the National Security Administration. Just the Directors.”

“Are you a part of the Cabinet?”

“Heavens no!” Whitman laughed. “I wouldn’t want to be. I’ve got enough to do here, especially with this new trouble cropping up! So Rufus has you looking into this?”

Nigel blushed a little. “Actually, this wasn’t what we expected at all. When I came into the Ministry, I expected that we’d just be rounding up a few stray Death Eaters and sending them to Azkaban. No one dreamed it would come to this. And the problem is that it just seems to be spreading, the harder we work at stopping it. It’s like we’re moving backwards and causing more problems than we’re solving.”

Whitman shook his head sympathetically. “I know how you feel. That’s the frustration of being in government. You do your damnedest to make all the right choices, and when things aren’t picture perfect, the people want to tear your head off!”

Nigel stood up and shook hands with Whitman. “I’d like to keep in touch with you, sir, if you don’t mind.”

“Absolutely! That would be a very good idea, especially if this problem continues to grow over here. Why don’t you and I schedule a follow-up meeting for a month from now, just to keep tabs on each other?”

“Perfect.” Nigel turned to leave, but stopped. “Mr. Secretary, how many people from our world work here in the Capitol?”

“Besides my Department?” Whitman scratched his craggy chin. “There’s a page who works in the Senate, Jenna is her name, and two security guards in the Rotunda, and…um…oh yes, and one of members of Congress is a wizard.”

“Really?” Nigel said, amazed. “That’s unexpected, isn’t it?”

“It’s actually a good idea. Mark is able to keep us up to date on muggle law and public policy. I try to advise him on issues that will benefit American witches and wizards.”

Nigel laughed. “I think that’s bloody brilliant! Well anyway, thanks so much for taking a few minutes to see me, Mr. Secretary. I really appreciate it. Shall I send your regards to Rufus?”

“My very warmest regards.”

* * * * *

Before he apparated back to the Ministry, Nigel made two stops. His first was to the hotel and casino where he had been the previous night. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for, but he hoped that a cursory look about the place might lead him toward some sort of clue about Krista and about her intentions.

In the light of day and especially in the morning, Las Vegas looked like an entirely different place. All the glitz and bright lights seemed almost obscene to Nigel as he passed through the casino, eying the stressed out gamblers still tethered to the gaming tables. He conjured up a silver dollar to put in the slot machine—there was a free one at the end of the long row of flashing machines, or so he thought. To his surprise and shock, a middle aged woman in a garish, striped blouse came charging at him from three machines away, her plain face twisted in fury.

“That’s MY machine, asshole!” she screeched at him, just as he moved to insert the coin. Nigel jumped back.

“Sorry, lady,” he said apologetically.

“Stay the FUCK away from MY MACHINE!” she bellowed.

“No problem,” he said, backing away. Nigel headed toward the exit, only to be accosted by the security guard who had thrown him out the night before.

“HEY! YOU! KID!” he shouted. The entire room turned to see all the commotion. Nigel panicked. Should he? No. That would be imprudent. Instead, Nigel stood his ground, wishing he knew the Obliviating charm.

“Yes? May I help you?” he asked, sounding as mature and authoritative as he could muster.

“Didn’t I throw your underaged ass outta here last night?” he demanded.

“I’m not here to gamble, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Nigel sneered.

“Well then you had better haul yourself right out of here, boy,” the guard sneered back.

Nigel threw up his hands and marched out of the room. Once he reached the outside, he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been arrested or thrown out of the entire building. Nigel didn’t exactly know what he was looking for—in a way he hoped to find Krista, but on the other hand, he wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. Thus, Nigel decided to do a bit of undercover inquiry.

Reaching the lobby of the hotel, Nigel approached the front desk. A dark-haired, very clean and impeccably groomed muggle man stood behind the desk, shuffling some papers and finishing up a telephone call.

“May I help you?” he asked politely.

“Yeah, I was here last night, and…well, the girl I was sort of…with, if you know what I mean, well, I have something of hers and I wanted to…you know, return it,” Nigel said, hoping the man would suspect him of bad behaviour.

The muggle smirked knowingly. “Ah, I see, yes of course. We get a lot of that here. No worries. What is the young lady’s name?”

“Well, I only know her first name, actually,” Nigel confessed. “I mean for all I know, she might have given me a false name. Don’t people do that a lot in Vegas?”

“People do a lot of strange things in Vegas. What name did she give you?”

“Krista. She’s brunette, amber eyes, very nice-looking.”

The muggle clicked a few keys on the computer and glanced at the monitor for a moment. “The only Krista I see is up on the thirteenth floor. Room 1369. Krista Quinn. She’s on her own. No roommates or lovers.”

“Thanks, mate,” Nigel said gratefully. He headed for the elevators. As he waited for the elevator, he started to think about what he would do. What if she was out of her room? Should he break in? Should he just apparate into her room? But if she put a charm on it, could he gain access? And if she really were evil, could she have charmed the room so he couldn’t disapparate, should things go wrong.

Quinn. Quinn. Nigel didn’t know any Quinns in the magical community. Must be an American family. Quinn…Q… Nigel shuddered.

“Oh my gods,” he whispered. It couldn’t be, could it? Quinn was a rather common name, he was sure. Maybe Krista was half muggle—there were plenty of muggle Quinns, even in Britain. And there were other names that started with Q—Quill, Quirrell, Quant, Quigley. And plus, Heroditus Q was British, not American. Right? Or was he? Actually, Nigel had no idea. The Ministry had only heard his name in conjunction with Geoffrey Taylor, but not much more than that. But wasn’t it Heroditus Q who attacked him and injured him so badly? Again, Nigel paused. His back had been turned—he really didn’t know who attacked him, nor did anyone else.

Nigel emerged from the elevator drowning in thought. As much as he wanted to snoop about Krista’s hotel room, he worried that he might be stepping into some serious danger. After all, what if she really were related? Maybe a daughter or a young wife? Maybe she was a he, using Polyjuice Potion to fool Nigel. But why would she do that? She had no way of knowing he’d be at that hotel…

Unless she followed him from England. But how would she know he was going? It was a random idea, different from what was originally planned, wasn’t it? Actually, now that he thought on the events of the previous night, the idea had been Nigel’s own. Unless he was goaded into it unbeknownst to himself. But who would do that? He trusted his friends, in spite of their pasts. They had all reformed…hadn’t they?

* * * * *

Room 1369. Nigel stood before the white door, his hand raised to knock. But he paused, pressed his ear against the door and listened. Nothing. He wondered if he should take a chance and apparate inside. After all, it was early afternoon, and it was very likely that Krista was out to lunch. He hoped she wasn’t having a lie-in. That could be a disaster. On the other hand, she already knew he was a wizard, and in the worst-case scenario, he could pretend that he was lusting to see her once again, in the privacy of her bedroom.

Destination, determination, deliberation…POP!

He landed near the bay window which overlooked all of Las Vegas, just as she had told him before. The rumpled bed was empty, but, to his horror, the bathroom door was shut, the light on. He could hear the shower and a little humming. That must be Krista in there, getting ready to go out for the day. Very quietly, Nigel looked about the messy room. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for exactly. The first place Nigel looked was inside her suitcase, which he opened with a wave of his hand. Just clothes—posh clothes, he noticed. Famous designer clothes, in fact. He peered inside a pocket of the suitcase—just some feminine hygiene stuff and a couple of items he didn’t quite recognise. But they all looked harmless enough.

Nigel shut the suitcase silently and moved to the dresser drawers. He knew very well he could get caught at any moment. His heart pounded in his chest, and he listened carefully for any sign that she might discover him snooping around in her private things. In truth, Nigel felt a bit guilty, and he genuinely hoped he wouldn’t find anything incriminating.

Under a frilly white negligee in the middle drawer, Nigel saw the edge of a book, which he levitated out of the drawer. The sound of rushing water ceased—Nigel jumped. _Hurry!_ He glanced behind him furtively. No one. Still safe. The title of the book concerned Nigel:  The Open Door to Power, by Ralph Jones, PhD. Nigel had never heard of Ralph Jones, but on the other hand, this didn’t look like the typical muggle self-help book, or for that matter, like the typical wizarding self-help book. The cover was black, the pages gilt in a blood red. It had a sinister feel to it, and Nigel began to wonder if he should touch it at all. He vanished it to a desk drawer in his office.

Just then, the doorknob sounded. Damn! She was coming out! In a flash, Nigel disapparated, hoping all along that she didn’t see the last traces of him as he disappeared from sight.

* * * * *

Onward to his next stop, Nigel landed in a wood just outside of Cambridge University, alongside the river. To his relief, no one was around. All in classes or at tutorials, he hoped. No one on the river, either. Nigel straightened his shirt and made his way toward campus, trying to figure out just how to find Lucy amongst all the students, professors, tourists, and visitors. He couldn’t exactly apparate right on campus—too obvious. It was different in Vegas, where it was so jammed with gamblers and drunken people everywhere, but here, there were too many open spaces.

Nigel walked through the magnificent, beautiful campus, unable to mask his awe at the stately buildings and the lush landscape everywhere he looked. Lucy was here somewhere, but where? She could be in a lecture or in the library or in with her Tutor. Nigel didn’t even know who to ask for directions. He would have to resort to magic, though he was reluctant to do so. What other choice did he have?

Nigel pulled out his wallet and took hold of Lucy’s picture, which he still kept. Touching the picture, he said, “Invenire!”

A strange sense of focus overcame Nigel, and he suddenly knew exactly where to go. He crossed the campus, entered one of the buildings—he didn’t know what the building was—and walked straight up to the second floor, turned left, went three doors down and stopped in front of an office. Nigel knocked lightly, not knowing what sort of office it was. After a few seconds, the door opened.

A white-haired man in professor’s robes answered. For a moment, Nigel thought he was right back at Hogwarts, speaking to one of the teachers.

“Yes? May I help you?” the man asked in an elegant voice.

“I’m looking for a Miss Lucy Fairchild,” Nigel replied, trying to sound equally elegant.

“This is a tutorial, young man. You’ll need to return in an hour.”

From inside, Lucy craned her head past a handsome blond young man to see what was going on. At the sight of Nigel, she jumped up.

“Nigel!” she cried, rushing to the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Can we talk for a few minutes?”

“Can I meet you in an hour? I’m in the middle of class.”

Nigel blushed. “Of course. I’m so sorry.” He stepped back. “I’ll be out in front of the building.”

Outside, Nigel scrambled to find words that wouldn’t send Lucy into a total panic. He knew it would be irresponsible not to warn her about Taylor, but he also knew how she would react. All he could do was brace himself for the oncoming storm.

By the time Lucy arrived and sat down at his side, Nigel’s heart was pounding hard and fast. She looked at him with a mixture of skepticism and worry.

“You look like shit,” she said.

“Thanks a lot,” he replied sourly. “Actually, I’m exhausted.”

“I’ve kept up on your progress, you know,” she said. “My aunt told me you’ve got a huge inquiry going on. Are you okay?”

He shook his head. “Not really. Just tired. Stressed out.”

“Worried?”

“All the time.”

“I’m sorry. I wish things were better for you.”

They sat in awkward silence for a couple of minutes, watching the people pass them by. The warm afternoon sun felt good on their faces.

“How are classes?” Nigel asked.

“Hard. But I like my professors, and my Tutor, too.”

“You seeing anyone special?”

Lucy shook her head. “No, no one special. No one since you.” She paused, looking nervously away. “Nigel, I’m so sorry about what I did. Really.”

“Lucy…”

“Let me finish,” she replied, cutting across him. “You made some really valid points before, and it’s only now that I’m seeing just how much I hurt you. I feel just awful about it.”

“Please, Lucy…”

“No.” She looked him in the eyes, her own eyes filled with tears. “I’m not embarrassed about you, Nigel. You’re kind and brave and clever and I love you so much…”

It was too much for Nigel. He pulled her toward him and kissed her deeply. It was all so confusing. He wanted her desperately but he didn’t want all the pain and drama again. He loved her more than he knew yet he resented the pressure she put on him to change. As Nigel kissed her more passionately, his heart broke. He pulled away sharply and shook his head.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he said mournfully. Nigel tried to regain his composure, but it was no good. He choked back a sob. “It’s not fair! You keep saying these things to me but then you…”

Lucy stopped his protest with another tender kiss.

“Nigel,” she whispered. She ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his shoulders and his back gently. “Please forgive me. Please take me back.”

Nigel thought of Ginny, of Parvati, even of Krista. He thought about the witches who understood his world and accepted him automatically for who he was. He mourned for what he could have had with a witch, with someone already comfortable in the magical world.

“Lucy,” he started, “I don’t know what to say. This is really confusing for me.”

She nodded. “I understand. Is there…someone else in your life? A witch?”

“Not exactly. It’s not that. It’s just…you and I have a lot to work out. Can you understand that?”

“Of course I can.”

He sat back on the bench, knowing he had to tell her. “Listen, Lucy, there’s something you need to know, about the situation I’m working on at the Ministry. Your aunt told you about Geoffrey Taylor, right?”

“Yeah. She said he’s worse than Lord Voldemort.”

“He very likely is. Look, he…he lives here…in Cambridge.”

“Is that bad?”

“I don’t know exactly. There’s a bet on my life among his followers. Whoever kills me first gets honour and glory.”

“That’s horrible! What are you going to do?”

“Well, that’s part of why I came to see you. See, I’m trying to make sure that the people I love and care about are well protected, just in case these people try to get to me through my parents or my friends…or you.”

Lucy frowned. “Why should they?”

“I don’t really know, actually. It could be that I’m completely paranoid. I just don’t want to take that chance.”

“So what do I do?” Her voice became shrill, her eyes wild.

Nigel placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Well, I’ve created a Shield Potion that I’ve already given my parents. They take it every day with their morning coffee, and it lasts all day long. I experimented on my dad, just to make sure. With his permission, of course!”

“And you think I should take this, too?” Nigel tried to determine whether she sounded afraid or angry or both.

“It would be a very good idea. Look, it’s up to you, Lucy. I’m just saying, if Taylor’s people find out about you and me…I’d just hate to see them try and use you to get to me.”

Lucy looked away, horrified and afraid. Nigel felt terribly guilty about making her so upset, especially as they were so close to making up.

“Lucy, I don’t mean to scare you…”

“Yeah, right.” Her voice was suddenly cold. Too cold. “Am I in serious danger? Should I leave Cambridge?” she asked, now sounding businesslike.

“Not if you take the potion. You should be just fine.”

“Fine, I’ll take it.” Lucy sighed. “Tell me the truth, Nigel. Did you come here to make up with me or just to give me this bad news?”

“I never thought you wanted to make up with me, to be honest,” he confessed.

“So you just came here to warn me?”

Nigel nodded guiltily.

Lucy smiled. “I think that’s sweet.” She kissed him again.


	14. The Little Purple Bag of Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“So what brings you here?” Snape asked, clearly wanting to change the subject._
> 
> _“I’ve got this bag here, something I sort of apprehended from someone recently.”_
> 
> _Snape raised a curious eyebrow. “Apprehended?”_
> 
> _“OK. Stole.”_
> 
> _He grinned. “I’m glad to see the family legacy isn’t lost on you, Chaucer. Let’s take a look.”_

“Where have you been?” Arthur barked at Nigel, who rushed into the office, several hours late that afternoon.

“Sorry, Arthur,” he said, scurrying to his desk. He ripped open the drawer and pulled out the little purple bag of mystery and the black book. Nigel laid both of them on the desk and stared at them.

“The Minister is furious with you,” Arthur said sharply, sounding not unlike his wife.

“I was on a mission, Arthur. I know I should have sent word, but there was no time.” Nigel explained his entire encounter with Krista, and his conversation with the American Secretary of Magic. Arthur sat there, incredulous.

“This changes everything,” he said as Nigel concluded his story. “Then again, we don’t know about this girl. She could very well be innocent.”

Nigel opened up the black book and glanced through it. “Have you heard of Ralph Jones?” he asked Arthur.

“No. Is he someone you met in the States?”

“He wrote this book.” Nigel held up the volume.

“If that book is innocent, how will you get it back to this girl?” Arthur asked pointedly.

“I don’t know, Arthur,” Nigel replied, irritated. “I’ll vanish it to her somehow. I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

“You do realise this is stolen property, don’t you?” Arthur declared, pointing at the bag.

“And if it’s lethal?”

“And if it’s not?”

“That’s what I need to find out,” Nigel shot back. “I’m having the contents of that little purple bag analysed.”

“Listen, Nigel,” Arthur said, “I’m a little concerned about you. I know you have a position of power, but…”

“Wait just a moment!” Nigel snapped. “Are you suggesting this is some sort of power play on my part?”

“Perhaps.”

“That’s absurd! You didn’t see what was in that girl’s mind, Arthur! You have no idea! I was completely within my rights to conduct an inquiry!”

“Without protocol? Without support or backup from the Ministry? It was reckless!”

“I had to act! I couldn’t just wait around. There was no time! What if she intended to kill me or someone else that very night? Had I not acted as I did, I might not be here!”

“And if she complains to the Wizengamot, you’re not going to have much to stand on.”

“Wait just a second, Arthur! What were you telling me just two months ago? Forget age and take on my position! Don’t fear my authority! Well that’s what I did out there! Why is this a problem? Here we are dealing with something that is becoming a global problem, and you’re treating me like a child! This is spreading beyond Britain! Don’t you see that?”

Arthur sat back, visibly chastened. “You know what, Nigel?” he asked calmly. Nigel didn’t reply. “You’re absolutely right,” Arthur confessed. “What’s your plan of attack?”

“I’ve thought about it. I’d like for you and Hermione to go through this book and investigate it. Compare it with Taylor’s writings. Do whatever you can to rule it out as something suspicious. As for me, I’m going to take this bag to Hogwarts and have Severus take a look at its contents. I seriously hope it’s totally innocent.”

“So do I.”

“I’m also going to talk to Severus’ friend, Sophia, about a few things.”

“Oh yes, I remember her from the wedding,” Arthur said. “She’s an Unspeakable, isn’t she?”

“I figure she might be able to offer me some information that I can use in this inquiry.”

“About Taylor?”

“About magic.”

* * * * *

As Nigel made his way through the corridors of Hogwarts toward Snape’s office in the dungeons, he was met by a flurry of excited students, all of whom treated him as a visiting dignitary. It was a part of his new post that Nigel still hadn’t gotten used to. He didn’t mind the role of leadership, but the public admiration still harrowed him, especially when it came from his peers. Nigel smiled brightly and said hello to everyone who passed, but didn’t stop for any long conversation, though he did make a stop at the Slytherin table to say hello to a couple of people. Nigel felt proud to see three Hufflepuffs and a Ravenclaw seated at the Slytherin table, and a crowd of Slytherin girls gathered about the Gryffindor table, talking to a very handsome Sixth Year boy that Nigel only knew a little.

Snape’s office looked strangely cheerful as Nigel entered. It wasn’t that he had added anything to the décor of the place. There were still strange things floating in jars which lined the shelves, and the windows still let in little light to the room. And yet, the little vase of yellow daisies on Snape’s desk spoke volumes to Nigel.

“Nice flowers, Severus,” he said, shutting the door behind him with a loud click. Snape looked up from his desk and scowled.

“They’re horrid, aren’t they?”

Nigel bent low and sniffed the flowers. “I think they’re quite lovely, actually. Sophia?”

Snape scowled again and rolled his eyes. Nigel chuckled.

“So what brings you here?” Snape asked, clearly wanting to change the subject.

“I’ve got this bag here, something I sort of apprehended from someone recently.”

Snape raised a curious eyebrow. “Apprehended?”

“OK. Stole.”

He grinned. “I’m glad to see the family legacy isn’t lost on you, Chaucer. Let’s take a look.”

Nigel gingerly opened the little purple bag and tipped it upside down. At first, nothing. But after he gave it a little shake, a little pill tumbled out, onto the desktop. A black pill.

“Shit,” Snape whispered.

“Is this bad?”

Snape rubbed his forehead, barely able to speak for a moment. “Gods! I barely know where to begin!”

“Is it worse than the blue one?”

Snape placed a clear glass bowl over the pill so nothing could touch it for now. He stepped back from the desk and took Nigel by the shoulder. “You had this on your person for how long?” he asked in a very worried tone.

“Just as long as it took me to come here to your office.” Nigel sensed his cousin’s panic and tried to assuage him. “Severus, it was in the bag all the time. It was fine. I never touched it.”

“I’m taking you to the Hospital Wing directly.” Snape wrenched open the office door and shuttled him out.

“I’m fine! Severus…”

“Do not argue with me, Nigel! This is serious!”

Nigel blanched. “I’m not in danger, am I?”

“We’ll see.”

As they made their way to the Hospital Wing, Nigel’s heart pounded in his chest. Was that worry, was it the pill having some terrible effect on him? He could feel his skin grow clammy and cold. Would he die? Would his insides turn to stone, like Glenda Babb or Mrs. Smythe? Or was this just a case of panic on his part? Suddenly, Nigel found himself short of breath. He gasped and struggled to breathe as he stopped to lean against the stone wall twenty paces from the Hospital Wing.

Snape took him by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes, searching for some sort of danger sign unknown to Nigel.

“I’m fine, Severus,” Nigel said. “It’s just panic. You’re scaring the shite out of me. Just keep your calm.”

“Come on,” Snape replied, holding Nigel by the elbow and escorting him the rest of the way. They walked in silence, which came as a relief to Nigel. He was worried enough as it was, and the last thing he needed was for his cousin to make some dour pronouncement that would send him into a tailspin.

No one other than Nigel was a patient in the Hospital Wing that day, to Nigel’s relief. Madame Pomfrey took Nigel behind a screen and had him disrobe entirely so she could take a careful look at him, both physically and magically. It was the oddest examination of Nigel’s life, and he worried just a little where she was going to stick that wand. Happily, it didn’t go anywhere unwelcome.

She handed him a white nightshirt. “Go on, put this on and get into bed.”

“Why? Is there something the matter?”

“Until Severus tells us more about that pill, you are staying right here.”

“How long will that take?” he asked, worried all over again.

“Hopefully he’ll know by the end of the day.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“You’ll have to stay the night.”

Damn. This was beyond frustrating. Nigel had a deskload of work that needed his attention straight away, and the last thing he needed was to be stuck in quarantine at Hogwarts.

“I’ll need to send an owl to the Ministry, and I need to see Professor Maimonides as soon as she’s finished with lessons for the day,” Nigel said.

“I’m so sorry about this, Nigel,” Madame Pomfrey said. “We need to be sure everyone is protected. I’ll have a student bring you an owl right now. I’ll also have Sophia sent to see you later.”

“Thank you, Madame Pomfrey.”

Within a very short period of time, the sound of footsteps roused Nigel from the far too pleasant nap he was taking, dreaming of driving with Lucy and Ginny in a red muggle sports car.

“Arthur!” Nigel exclaimed. “You were quick!”

“Well,” he replied, pulling up a chair next to Nigel’s bed, “you were most urgent in your letter. I thought it best to drop everything and come straight here.” He looked around uncomfortably. “Unfortunately, I’ve spent far too much time in this ward—more than I care to remember. So, what do you need?”

“How is your report on that book?”

“It’s very suspicious, Nigel. I’m certain that this Ralph Jones is a follower of Taylor’s. I inquired into his identity and more into Taylor’s and they are definitely two separate individuals. And furthermore, I also learned that, while Heroditus Q is British, his ex-girlfriend moved to America several years ago with their young daughter.”

Nigel’s heart sank. “Krista?”

“No name is given, but they do live in the Western United States. Hermione learned that the girlfriend lives in Los Angeles, but her daughter goes to school in Albuquerque.”

“New Mexico. Gods!” Nigel whispered. He snatched a parchment and quill from the bedside table and took a series of notes, which formed a sort of flow chart. Then, he turned it around to show Arthur. “OK, take a look at this,” he said, indicating the different elements of the chart. “We’ve got Taylor at the helm of this whole effort, both as a tactical and a spiritual leader.”

Arthur nodded. “That makes sense.”

“So, we have Heroditus Q and Ralph Jones who are his chief lieutenants, one here in Britain and the other in the United States. Heroditus Q is a man of action who headed up the plot to destroy the muggle Houses of Parliament.”

“But Jones has only written a book,” Arthur pointed out.

“As far as we know. But the Secretary of Magic told me that there have been a lot of violent incidents not unlike those happening here, and mainly on the West Coast.” Nigel handed the parchment to Arthur. “Look, I have no idea how long I’ll be shut up here, but just in case it’s a couple of days, I want you and the team to keep on with all this. I want Gawain to get in touch with the American Aurors and to set up a joint meeting so we can find any definite links between Jones and the West Coast incidents.”

Arthur scribbled down a few notes. “Got it. I also think we need to firm up his links with Heroditus Q and Taylor. It’s going to have to be more than just a book.”

“Get Shaklebolt on that,” Nigel said. “He’s a first rate investigator.”

“Got it.”

“Whilst I’m here, I’m going to spend a little time looking into Taylor’s background and his time at Hogwarts. I’m also going to look into his brothers, to see what we can learn from them.”

Arthur smiled. “You finally did it, Nigel.”

“What?” Nigel asked, bewildered.

“Found your confidence. I’m proud of you.”

* * * * *

He would have liked to take a little walk, even if it was just laps around the Hospital Wing. But no, that was impossible. Quarantine. Too much risk of infection, possibly. Or possibly not. Nigel had a strong feeling this was much ado about nothing other than his cousin’s paranoia, but on the other that, Nigel didn’t want to take a chance. Scratch that—actually, Madame Pomfrey didn’t want to take a chance. Quarantine. It became nearly impossible to get comfortable, though he was wrapped up in warm blankets.

Finally, the monotony broke. When Sophia Maimonides entered the Hospital Wing, Nigel nearly sprang from his bed to embrace her. He managed to restrain himself, though barely.

She looked positively radiant. “You look dreadful!” she exclaimed, sitting in the chair by Nigel’s bed.

“If you hadn’t come just now, I might have run straight out of here,” Nigel confessed. “Of all the times for me to get stuck in a quarantine!”

“Well you’re very patient. No pun intended.”

Nigel laughed. “So, you and Severus.”

Sophia grinned. “Am I mad?”

“No, not at all! I think it’s great! It’s about bloody time! So tell me about it. He won’t say a thing, and I’m dying to know!”

Sophia beamed. “Did he tell you how we met?”

Nigel shook his head. “I told you, he won’t say a thing. You know how he is.”

She nodded. “Oh yes. I know. He is quite a character, isn’t he? But he’s really quite extraordinary. He’s the first man I’ve been with who isn’t intimidated by a woman who can think for herself.”

Nigel raised an eyebrow. “I never knew he was so liberal minded.”

“We actually met at the Three Broomsticks this summer.”

Nigel laughed at the incongruity of his cousin picking up women at the Three Broomsticks. “Goodness!” Nigel exclaimed. “I never would have imagined it! So how long were you an Unspeakable?”

“I had trained initially to be an Auror, but after a couple of years, I found it really didn’t suit me very well. I was more attracted to the bigger questions about life and experience, and the Department of Mysteries was the only place where I could really explore them.”

Then why, Nigel wondered… Never mind.

“Listen, Sophia, can I ask you about something?”

She crossed her legs and sat back in her chair. “Certainly. Ask me anything.”

“I’ve heard lots of people, people like Professor Dumbledore and Severus and Kingsley Shaklebolt talking about how magic leaves traces.”

“That’s true. There’s residual energy that the astute witch or wizard will be able to detect. That’s how the Board of Governors at Hogwarts discover young witches and wizards—by the traces of magic they leave behind.”

“Can you do it?” Nigel asked, now extremely interested.

“To a certain degree, yes. It’s hard in a place like this, of course, since there’s so much magic. But in muggle society it’s much easier.”

“So is there some training I can do?”

“Not exactly. It’s something you have to practice.”

“Like a skill?”

Sophia nodded her head. “Precisely. You’re a Legilimens, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Detecting traces of magic isn’t so different from Legilimency. It’s an extra sense of sorts. You just have to tap into it by focusing your mind and your own magical energy. That’s how I do it, anyway.”

Nigel pondered a moment. “I’ll have to work on that. Thanks for the information. Say, were you here at Hogwarts when Severus was?”

She sniggered. “He was a Sixth Year when I started. To be honest, I was a little afraid of him. He was so much older and had such a dark reputation.”

“What house were you in?”

“Slytherin, just like you and Severus.”

“You must remember Harry’s parents!”

“His mother was Head Girl my second year. I remembered liking her very much. Whenever I see a redheaded girl, like Ginny Weasley, I often think of Lily Evans. It was so sad when they died like that. I was a Seventh Year when it happened. That whole year was so strange, especially for us Slytherins.”

“I suppose so. I imagine there was some backlash against you all.”

“It was truly awful, actually. Most of us had no association with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, but way too many kids here at school decided that just because we were in his house, we must all be bad. Never mind that Geoffrey Taylor and his older brothers were up to no good.”

“His older brothers were in on it?” That was a bit of a shock. “What about Heroditus Q? Do you have any memory of him?”

“You mean Harold Quinn? He’s older than Taylor. I don’t know much about personal background, but I think he was an Irish associate of Randal Taylor at school.”

“They were at Hogwarts together?”

“And guess what? Neither was in Slytherin,” Sophia said somewhat bitterly. “What most people don’t know is that it was Randal Taylor and Harold Quinn who gave Geoffrey all those crazy ideas about openly using magic to oppress muggles.”

Nigel couldn’t help laughing. “Harold Quinn? That’s Heroditus Q? Ha!” He snorted.

Sophia nodded.

But a troubling thought overwhelmed Nigel’s mind. Why hadn’t she said anything about this before? If she knew this entire time who Heroditus Q was, if she knew his background and that he was close with Taylor’s older brother, why did she keep that to herself? This troubling thought remained with him the rest of the day, and even after he got the clearance from Snape to return to the Ministry, the idea remained with him still.

Night had fallen, so it was pointless for Nigel to return to the office. When he arrived home, his parents were fast asleep and the whole house was pitch black. Nigel apparated to his room and undressed for bed. Suddenly, he stopped. Standing in the centre of his bedroom, clad only in pajama bottoms, he had an idea—an experiment. He wasn’t sure it would work, but it was worth a try.

Focusing his mind, Nigel rushed back to the entry hall of his house, hoping to detect something magical, some trace of the magic he had just performed. Nothing. Damn. He’d have to practice a lot more. Maybe it only worked with someone else’s magic.

* * * * *

“What do you know about someone called Harold Quinn?” Nigel asked Arthur the next day. They sat at the small table in Nigel’s office. Nigel had just made some Earl Grey tea for him, Arthur, Hermione and the Minister.

“Never heard of him,” Arthur replied.

“I have,” the Minister said. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“Were you at Hogwarts with him, Minister?” Nigel asked.

“He’s a bit younger than I, but I remember him a little. Ravenclaw, if I remember correctly,” the Minister said.

“What was he like?” Nigel asked.

“Why? Who is this fellow?” Arthur asked.

“He’s Heroditus Q,” Nigel replied.

Rufus bobbled his teacup, Hermione gasped and Arthur spilled tea down the front of his robes.

“Where did you hear that?” Rufus asked, shocked and horrified.

“Sophia Maimonides told me. Apparently she’s known this for some time and chose not to reveal it to anyone.”

Hermione crinkled her nose. “That’s odd. Why would she tell the Ministry? She used to work for the Ministry.”

“What exactly was her reputation at the Department of Mysteries?” Nigel asked Rufus.

“Fine, as far as I know. I’d have to ask the director of the department.”

“Is there some reason why she wouldn’t say something?” Nigel asked. “Is there some sort of department protocol that might have prevented her from giving us this information?”

Rufus shifted in his seat. “The Department of Mysteries runs in their own way, in their own time. I would need to confer with the director to find out more about her. But I never had any reason to think ill of Miss Maimonides. I hope your suspicions of her are unfounded, Nigel.”

Nigel shuddered. “So do I.”


	15. Cousin vs. Cousin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The more he thought about it, the angrier Nigel became. Who did she think she was, imposing herself like that, ingratiating herself to Severus like that? It didn’t seem fair. Nigel worried about what this would do to his cousin. Could it be that Sophia was merely using him? Nigel simply couldn’t be sure. He hoped he was entirely wrong, that it was all a huge misunderstanding. The only thing he could think of doing was to pay a visit to his cousin to talk this whole thing over. He knew that this would get very ugly very quickly._

The more he thought about it, the angrier Nigel became. Who did she think she was, imposing herself like that, ingratiating herself to Severus like that? It didn’t seem fair. Nigel worried about what this would do to his cousin. Could it be that Sophia was merely using him? Nigel simply couldn’t be sure. He hoped he was entirely wrong, that it was all a huge misunderstanding. The only thing he could think of doing was to pay a visit to his cousin to talk this whole thing over. He knew that this would get very ugly very quickly.

“Nigel, you can’t just ask someone such a question,” Hermione said with a note of disgust in her voice. She, Nigel, Harry and a very subdued Ron sat at one end of Nigel’s long conference table, eating hot, fresh pizza. The whole office smelled wonderful.

“I know it sounds awful,” Nigel replied, “but I don’t see any way around it.”

“You could just talk to McGonagall maybe,” Harry suggested. “You know, ask her why she hired Sophia in the first place. Maybe you won’t even need to say a word to Snape at all.”

Nigel nodded. “True. Actually, that’s a pretty good idea.”

Ron sniggered. “See? They don’t call him the Chosen One for nothing.” He peeled an olive off his slice of pizza and tossed it in his mouth.

Nigel laughed. Harry blushed.

“So how’s Lucy?” Hermione asked Nigel. “Seen her lately?”

“Not in a couple of weeks,” Nigel replied, licking some pizza sauce off his thumb. “She’s busy with classes and I’m busy with all this shit.”

“So are you back together?” Hermione asked.

“Not that it’s your business,” Ron teased.

“What ever happened with you and Parvati?” Harry asked. “I thought you two had something going at the wedding.”

Nigel shrugged. “It just didn’t happen. I had a great time with her…”

“Until you had to run out on her,” Ron reminded him.

“That’s not funny!” Hermione snapped.

“He’s got a point, though,” Nigel said in Ron’s favour. “I actually ran into her a couple of weeks ago when I had to give a press conference. She was pretty nice to me, which was a relief. I wasn’t sure if she was mad at me for having to leave like that.”

“We all understood,” Harry said.

“Most of us did,” Hermione grumbled, throwing a sharp look at Ron.

“Anyway,” Nigel said, trying to loosen the tension, “it all worked out for the best.”

A knock on the door loosened the tension further, especially when Arthur presented himself with a stack of new parchments for Nigel to peruse.

“Hi, all,” Arthur said, setting the parchments down on Nigel’s desk.

“Have some pizza, Arthur,” Nigel said. “It’s garlic, mushroom and olive. Hermione brought it in from a muggle shop down the street.”

“Sounds lovely,” Arthur replied, taking a seat next to Ron. He took a huge bite out of his slice of pizza. A bit of the sauce dribbled down his chin. Ron thrust a crumpled bit of parchment under his father’s chin.

“Nice save, mate!” Harry laughed.

“So how’s Auror training going, Harry?” Arthur asked. He took another huge bite of his pizza.

“It’s tough. We’re starting on Memory Charms next month,” Harry replied.

“I wouldn’t mind picking that up,” Nigel said wistfully. “Boy would that come in handy!”

“Yeah, you could make your town forget you’re a wizard!” Ron chortled. His father threw him an angry glare. Ron cleared his throat and blushed. “Or not.”

“Harry,” Nigel said, “are you learning how to detect magical residue? You know, those traces of magic left behind after the wizard’s gone?”

“That’s what we’ve been doing all month,” Harry said. “It’s hard work. Harder than I ever imagined it would be. This whole Auror thing is a lot harder than I ever imagined, in fact.”

Hermione sat up straight, as if she was going to start lecturing him. But instead, she only patted his hand and said, “You’ll get used to it. You always adapt well.”

Harry shrugged. “I suppose. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m really starting to wish I were back at school. Does that sound mad?”

Ron chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind that, so long as we didn’t have to take Snape any more. No offence, Nigel.”

Nigel laughed. “None taken.”

“So he’s got a girlfriend, I hear,” Harry said mirthfully. “That woman at the wedding?”

Nigel nodded. “It may just be a temporary insanity, I hope,” he said disdainfully.

“You don’t like her?” Ron asked. “I heard she’s pretty nice.”

“Speaking of that, Nigel,” Arthur said, his voice rather grave and serious. “I learned more about Harold Quinn. It’s all in those parchments I just put on your desk.”

“Can’t it wait?” Nigel asked lazily, taking his fourth piece of pizza.

“Not exactly,” Arthur said. “You may wish to know that Harold Quinn works at the Ministry.”

Nigel dropped his pizza on the table with a splat. “What? Where?”

“Guess,” Arthur said.

Nigel shook his head. “Not the Department of Mysteries.”

Arthur nodded.

“Oh my gods,” Hermione murmured. “Is she a plant?”

“That’s what you need to discover, Nigel,” Arthur said.

Nigel scowled. “So much for talking to Severus. I guess I’ll really have to take this up with Minerva.”

* * * * *

Late that afternoon, Nigel prepared to return to Hogwarts once again, though this time, he didn’t want to make the journey. He knew that he had to ask uncomfortable questions, the answers to which he didn’t want to hear. Nigel knew more than anything that his cousin would get terribly hurt by this, and that was the worst part of the whole thing. All he could hope was that Snape hadn’t gone too far with Sophia. The chill in the November air made Nigel’s bones ache as he tromped up the long path toward the castle. His old injuries from his accident felt new once again, ever since the weather took a frosty turn.

As he entered the entrance hall of the castle, Nigel made sure that his cousin was nowhere to be found. In fact, the only people he saw at that late hour were Sixth and Seventh Years who had the last class period of the day free. He nodded to a few people he knew as he made his way tenuously up to McGonagall’s office. New pain in his back and hips slowed him down a bit, which suited Nigel just fine.

She did not react well to his question, which he half expected.

“Are you trying to imply something about Miss Maimonides, Nigel?” she asked pointedly.

“I really don’t know, Professor,” he admitted. “It’s just that I can’t understand why she wouldn’t disclose that her coworker at the Ministry is Heroditus Q. Maybe there’s an innocent reason for that, but I seriously doubt it.”

“I don’t understand,” McGonagall said, utterly confused. “Sophia has given no reason for me to doubt her in the least. The students love her and she is extremely professional. Her lessons are excellent, and she is very supportive of the students and of the Staff. This is most shocking to me, Nigel.”

“It is to me, too. I’m half tempted to arrest her, but on the other hand, I don’t want to make a terrible mistake.”

“Well as far as I know, she is entirely above board in every way.”

“So she’s never said anything to make you wonder about her? Never dropped a name or a detail that made you suspicious of her?”

McGonagall sat back in her chair and tapped her chin with the feather end of her quill. “This is very troubling, Nigel. You can’t simply take a comment out of context and turn it into something suspicious. People say odd things all the time that mean nothing. I know you’re new at all this and that you’re very young, but…”

Nigel frowned. “My age has nothing to do with it, Minerva! This is serious business!” 

“Of course it is! But I’m worried that your zeal to arrest these wrongdoers is interfering with your judgement.”

“I have every reason to suspect her, based on what she said to me. You know that. But it wasn’t just what she said but how she said it, as if she were telling an old joke or something. She was so off-handed about it, as if it were no big deal.”

“You’re not suggesting I sack her, are you?”

“Actually, that would be a bad idea, especially if she is evil. It might provoke her. But I’d keep a very close watch on her.”

McGonagall scowled briefly. “Have you talked to Severus about this? You know they’re very…close.”

“That’s why I haven’t said anything. I know how he’ll react.”

“You need to talk to him. He may be able to shed light on her intentions better than I can. He has a more, shall we say, intimate knowledge of Miss Maimonides.”

She was right, of course. Minerva McGonagall was usually right, even in this. Nigel returned to the entrance hall, wanting nothing more than to leave, apparate back to the Ministry and forget the whole thing. He needed warmth and healing, any sort of relief. But he stopped at the door, rebuking himself for being a coward. He would have to be strong, even in the face of the worst his cousin could do or say.

And then it happened. Before Nigel had a chance to move in either direction, he heard it.

“Mr. Chaucer,” Snape’s voice rang out right behind him. “What are you doing here this time?”

Nigel whipped around, frantically trying to put on a cheerful face. “Oh, Severus,” he blathered. “How’s it going?”

Snape raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Swimmingly,” he said stiffly. “You?”

“Great. This cold weather’s kicking my arse, though.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?”

“What are you doing here? I can’t imagine you’re just visiting. You’re far too important for that any more.”

Nigel hated his cousin’s sarcasm sometimes. “Actually, Severus, I wanted to ask you something.”

Snape folded his arms and waited for Nigel to speak. “Yes?”

“Can we do this in your office?”

“Is it that important?”

“Actually, it is.” Nigel diverted his eyes, fearing that Snape would use Legilimency against him. He wished Snape would get over this foul mood.

“Well then, let’s go.”

As Snape led him through the corridor and down to the dungeons, Nigel struggled to brace himself for the oncoming storm. He prayed that Sophia wouldn’t interrupt them. Inside Snape’s office, Nigel refused to sit down. Instead, he paced up and down frantically, searching for the right words. Snape sat at his desk, eyeing Nigel with a cautious glare.

“You’re obviously upset,” Snape said. “Why don’t you sit down and talk to me?”

Nigel nodded furtively, sitting down opposite Snape. But in a few seconds, he jumped up again, pacing to and fro.

“What’s the matter with you?” Snape asked, bewildered by his young cousin’s behaviour. “Is it your old pains? Do you need something for it?”

“No, I’ve got something. I brewed it a couple of days ago. But I need to talk to you. I’m sorry, this is difficult for me.”

“Well sit down and relax. Do you want some tea? It’ll warm you up.”

“No, thank you. I’m fine, really.” Nigel searched his mind for the right words. “I wanted to ask you about…well…about um…about…”

“Yes?” Snape said, growing impatient. He tapped his long, bony finger on the desk with a loud click click click.

“Sophia.”

“Sophia?”

“Sophia. Some things have come to light…”

“What things?” Snape replied quickly, protectively.

Nigel took a deep breath. “I’ve learned a few things about her and…”

“What do you mean? Are you investigating her?”

“Don’t you ever wonder about her?”

“Wonder what?” Snape was starting to sound annoyed.

“I mean, why is she here?”

Snape chuckled. “Because she’s damn good at what she does.”

“But why now? Why here? Why you?” The moment the last question left Nigel’s lips, he winced.

Snape frowned. “What do you mean, why me? What exactly are you suggesting, Chaucer?”

Nigel knew he was in trouble when Snape called him Chaucer. “I’m not suggesting anything.”

“Oh I think you are,” he growled.

“No! I’m not! But I…”

“You’re wondering why someone like her would be interested in me. Is that it?”

“No, that’s not what I meant! I…”

Snape looked hurt. Genuinely hurt. Nigel didn’t know what to do.

“Severus, please…”

“You don’t need to explain,” Snape said coldly. “I know what you mean. You know, I would expect that sort of rhetoric from Potter or from other lower life forms, but not from you.”

“No, I don’t mean…” Nigel scrambled for the right word, but it wasn’t coming to him.

Snape stood up and swept over to the door. His expression was hard and fierce. He wrenched open the door and motioned to Nigel. “I can’t have this conversation with you, Nigel,” he said. “You need to leave now.”

Nigel’s jaw dropped. “You’re chucking me out?”

Snape held his head high. “I am. Go back to your important job. I regret to say that I will likely be very busy for the next ten years, so I doubt we will be able to see much of each other until then. Pity.”

That was it for Nigel. Outraged at his cousin’s behaviour, he jumped to his feet and stormed to the open door. “Fine, Severus, have it your way. Once you stop behaving like a child, you may want to ask your lover why she never told anyone that she knowingly worked with Heroditus Q at the Department of Mysteries!”

Before Snape could reply, Nigel strode out of the office and made his way back to the entrance hall as quickly as his aching body could carry him.

“Bastard,” he muttered under his breath.

All the way, Nigel rebuked himself, swore at Snape, and for the first time, wished he were a muggle again. That thought made Nigel stop dead in his tracks. He stood there on the stone steps leading up from the dungeons, stunned by his own thoughts. He didn’t mean it, did he? Nigel had already accepted himself as a wizard. He had made it clear to every muggle in his life that this was who he was and that they had to accept him as a wizard. For the most part, they had. Even Lucy had finally come around, or so it seemed. Nigel knew there was no going back and yet…

* * * * *

Rather than returning to the Ministry, Nigel took a walk home, in spite of his aching knees and elbows and hips. His conversation with Snape had turned into an unmitigated disaster, and now, Nigel feared he had lost his cousin’s friendship altogether. It was too much to bear. Nigel couldn’t imagine life without Snape in it—Snape had brought Nigel into the wizarding world, served as a powerful, if sometimes moody, foundation within it. He had shaped Nigel into the wizard he was. But as much as he wanted to run back and apologise, Nigel knew that was a bad idea. After all, Snape hadn’t given him a chance to explain himself or to take back his unintentional suggestion. Nigel regretted deeply how poorly he had handled the situation, knowing that an older man—like his father, like Arthur, like Rufus—would have done things entirely differently.

As Nigel turned the corner and headed for his house, the woman next door was standing below his window, looking up.

“Hi,” he said cheerfully. “Are you looking for my mum?”

She jumped back at the sound of his voice. “I’m on to you, boy,” she said viciously.

“Look, Mrs. Swift, I think you may have gotten a wrong idea about me,” Nigel tried to explain. “There was a nasty rumour going around about me, but it’s not true.”

“I saw you,” she said. “You appeared out of thin air! I saw! No one believes me, but I know!”

Nigel knew he would have to do some pretty fast talking to get out of this one. He desperately wished he knew memory charms—where was an Obliviator when Nigel needed him? “I don’t know what you saw, Mrs. Swift, but I’m sure it wasn’t that.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but Nigel really didn’t want her to know the truth.

“I even told the police about you, and they just laughed!” she said. “You’ve got them under a spell or something, I know it.”

“I don’t have anyone under a spell, Mrs. Swift.”

“What’s with that funny outfit, then?” she asked.

It was true. Nigel hadn’t changed out of his wizard robes at all that day. “What wrong with it?” he asked. “Lots of people dress this way. Just because I dress different doesn’t mean I’m some freak.” He moved toward the front garden of his house.

She stuck a chubby finger in his face. “I’m going to find out the truth about you, boy. I’m going to find out everything I can and then, we’ll see just who is a freak.” With that, she stomped off, back to her own house. Nigel watched her go, worried. He couldn’t put off moving out of the house any longer.

That evening, after a long, very hot bath, Nigel sat at his desk and wrote to Draco:

_Hey Malfoy,_

_How’s it going, mate? Hope all is well. A while ago, you suggested that I come and stay with you a while, and with things going as they are, I’m starting to think that it’s a really good idea. So are you still offering me a guest room? Let me know soon. The muggles are on to me, and I really need to get away from here for a while._

_See you soon!_

_Chaucer_

Nigel took the letter and apparated to Hogsmeade, making his way to the Post Office. He chose a tawny owl, tied the note to its leg and sent it on its way. Walking out of the Post Office, Nigel took a deep breath in the evening air. His afternoon bath had worked its magic, and the intense pain he had felt earlier in the day was nearly gone. Nigel walked casually down the main street, past the darkened windows of the shops. The only place open at that hour was the Three Broomsticks. Nigel could hear the laughter and music emanating from the place, and decided to duck in for a quick firewhiskey.

The place was packed with witches and wizards he had never seen before. Nigel sidled up to the bar and found a seat. Madame Rosmerta looked positively overworked. A thick wisp of her blonde curls kept flopping into her eyes, and she fruitlessly battled to keep it out of her face. Nigel gave her a sympathetic grin, which she returned. While Nigel knew no one in the tavern that evening, everyone there seemed to know him. Several people greeted Nigel, shook his hand, asked him all sorts of questions about Taylor, about the Minister, about Harry Potter, about his personal life—those questions Nigel didn’t answer.

It turned out they were a group of tourists from Canterbury. Many of them found it amusing that Nigel’s last name was Chaucer and that they were from Canterbury. He heard so many bad puns relating to _The Canterbury Tales_ , that Nigel thought he might just go home and burn his copy of the work.

“Are you related to Geoffrey Chaucer?” a very pretty young witch asked.

“I’m a direct descendent, actually,” Nigel replied.

“That’s so cool,” she said, a bit too dreamily. “Do you read Middle English?”

Odd question. “Er, no, not exactly. I have enough trouble with Modern English!” He laughed at his own joke. She laughed, too.

Nigel was more than willing to continue this pleasant conversation, but the girl’s mother intervened, calling her away. Nigel returned to his solitary drink—his fourth butterbeer. He was getting very warm indeed. Soon, another person sat next to him. A man in black robes. Nigel turned, ready to parry the next pun with one of his own, but he stopped, seeing who the man was.

“Hello,” he said curtly, turning back to his drink.

“Chaucer,” Snape replied.

“It’s incredible how quickly ten years passed,” Nigel said lightly.

“Mmm, amazing,” Snape said dryly. He sighed. Nigel took that as an apology.

“So did you just drop in for a nightcap, or did you seek me out?” Nigel asked.

“A little of both, actually. I actually intended to go to the Hog’s Head, but then I saw you through the window and came in here to rescue you from these tourists.”

“I’m flattered,” Nigel sneered, sensing some untruth in his cousin’s address. He wasn’t going to make things too easy for Snape.

“Would you like to walk outside a bit?” he asked. “It’s a bit stuffy in here.”

Nigel took that as a sign that Snape was serious about reconciling. After all, Snape never invited anyone to take an outdoor stroll unless it was an order. Nigel got up from his seat and followed his cousin outdoors, once again into the fresh evening air.

“Do your parents know where you are?” Snape asked.

“I left a note. Actually, I came into town to send an owl.”

“I know. I saw you at a distance.”

Nigel smirked. “I thought you saw me through the window.”

“I did see you through the window. That does not mean it was the first time I saw you this evening.”

Nigel laughed. “I’m glad to see you, too, Severus.”

They walked for a while in silence, watching their frozen breath waft upward into the sky as they went along.

“I didn’t ask her,” Snape finally said.

“OK.”

“I didn’t have to.”

Nigel stopped. “Legilimency?”

Snape shook his head. “Common sense. I think I know what you meant earlier.”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all,” Nigel admitted. “You deserve better.”

“You’re a sap, Chaucer. I’m disappointed.”

Nigel laughed. “Better a sap than a sucker.”

“That was funny,” Snape said.

“So what are you going to do about her?” Nigel asked.

“Nothing for the time being,” he replied. “I’ve become an accomplished spy in my day, so I see no reason to stop. I’m the best Occlumens around…well…except for you. There is no guarantee that she will reveal a thing to me, however. In fact, I wonder why she made that comment to you of all people. You have the power to send her to Azkaban, whereas I do not.”

“Maybe she wanted to know where I stood, whether I would bite at the information she fed to me or miss it entirely.”

“I think she likely sees you struggle with being a wizard. If she does hold with Taylor’s philosophy, she might be seeking to exploit your struggles and convince you to be open with your powers.”

Nigel nodded. “I think she’s doing that to you, too. She remembers you from school, you know.”

“Oh yes, I know that,” Snape replied. “My dark proclivities were no secret back in those days.”

“Are we together on this? Operation Sophia?”

Snape nodded. His face fell.

“I’m sorry, Severus,” Nigel said quietly.

“So am I.”


	16. The Mighty Pea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Draco handed the box to Nigel, who timorously opened it up, not sure what to expect inside._
> 
> _The box was empty, except for what looked like a pea. Nigel instantly thought of the little black and blue pills that had caused so much trouble. He briefly wondered what Draco was playing at._
> 
> _“What is it?” he asked, not touching the pea._
> 
> _Draco reached inside and put the pea in the palm of his hand. “I bet you think this is rubbish, right?”_
> 
> _“I think it’s something dark, actually.”_
> 
> _Draco snorted. “Because it’s from the Malfoys?”_
> 
> _“Because I’ve seen things like this that do a lot of damage to people.”_

_Your High and Mighty Mudblood,_

_Get you and your muggle crap here pronto. And don’t forget the computer! I want to know how those things work. And would it hurt you to bring a microwave and a television? I started watching this show whilst on holiday, and I don’t want to miss the next episode._

_Draco_

Nigel laughed. That was his friend’s way of saying, “I’d love you to move in with me, Nigel! It will be just perfect!”

Ever since he had heard about the bet on his life, Nigel had told his parents that he would have to move out, for everyone’s safety. But now, the time had really come. For the past several weeks, Mrs. Chaucer had remained relatively silent on the issue, not wanting to bring it up in conversation at all. Mr. Chaucer, on the other hand, talked about it from time to time, but mostly in terms of precautions Nigel would need to take in order to remain safe and healthy and happy. Nigel sat back and let his father preach. After all, his father was just trying to protect him. That actually made Nigel feel very good. 

Leaving would be hard, not just for them, but for Nigel, too. This was more than just a young man moving out on his own for the first time. That was difficult enough. Nigel was extremely close to his parents, especially after his terrible accident. For so many long months, they had been at his side as he recovered. They helped him with physical therapy and had made sure he kept up with his medication. And they had suffered, too, nearly as much as Nigel had, perhaps even more so. They had nearly lost their only son, their only child. They had sat in waiting rooms in hospitals whilst Nigel was in countless surgeries to save his life and restore his health. They had held his hand whilst he lay in bed moaning in agonising pain, giving him comfort and reassurance.

Nigel almost felt like a traitor for leaving them, but he knew he had to. They would expect him to, eventually. He couldn’t stay at home all his life. He was an adult, a working man, someone of power and prestige. No. It was time to go.

Moving his things to Malfoy Manor was quite easy. A quick vanishing charm, and just like that, his several boxes of clothes and books and everything else he owned was gone. The only things he kept at home were his muggle clothes. No wizard robes, no spellbooks or anything remotely magical. The one thing he made sure stayed at home was the security device he had bought from Fred and George Weasley—his parents would need that more than ever, even in Nigel’s absence.

Saying good-bye was more difficult for Nigel than he thought it would be. His parents surprised him somewhat, by their lack of tremendous grief Nigel had expected. Certainly they shed a few tears and gave him all sorts of typical parental advice on keeping healthy, eating well, avoiding alcohol and sex with girls, and so on, but the one thing they never asked Nigel to do was to stay.

Before he left, he handed his parents each a small silver pen.

“This is sort of like an alert system, if you should need help with anything major,” Nigel explained. “I placed a Protean Charm on it so that when you click the top of the pen, the silver coin that I’ll carry in my pocket will get very hot. I’ll apparate over immediately.”

“So if Geoffrey Taylor shows up on our front doorstep, we just click the pen?” Mr. Chaucer asked.

“Or anyone else you don’t trust.”

“How about the mailman when he brings the bills?” Mr. Chaucer joked.

Nigel laughed. “I’m afraid you’re on your own with that, Dad!”

Hugs. Kisses. Well wishes. A few tears. “See you soon.” “I’ll be over for dinner.” “Keep in touch.”

And then Nigel disapparated, straight to Malfoy Manor. Draco was waiting for him already, standing eagerly on the edge of the property. He waved as Nigel approached.

“You’re late,” Draco said.

“You’re a fusspot,” Nigel retorted. “You’re not going to be like this all the time, are you?”

They laughed and embraced warmly.

“Come on in,” Draco said. “I’ll show you around a bit, since you’re living here now. There’s a lot to this house that will be very valuable to you for a lot of reasons. My grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, brought a lot of powerful magic to this house.”

“Like what?”

Draco led Nigel through the front door of the magnificent house. Nigel couldn’t help but gasp in awe.

“It never ceases to amaze me no matter how often I’ve been here,” Nigel murmured as he glanced up at the sparkling crystal chandelier over the elegant winding staircase. He could barely believe he would live in such a luxurious place. Draco led him through to the library, a room Nigel remembered well.

Nigel sat in Lucius’ plush leather wingchair while Draco rifled through the massive writing desk, searching very loudly for something.

“I get a lot of tourists here, you know,” Draco said, still searching. “Witches and wizards all over the world want to see the place where Lord Voldemort was killed. I’m happy to show them, to tell you the truth.” He pulled out a solid gold box and brought it over to Nigel.

“Have you heard from your parents at all?” Nigel asked.

“I don’t want to know a thing,” he said bitterly.

“Bullshit, Draco,” Nigel replied. “You will one day.”

Draco rolled his eyes and changed the subject. “I can’t talk about it, Nige. Not now. It’s too difficult. Here, take a look inside.” He handed the box to Nigel, who timorously opened it up, not sure what to expect inside.

The box was empty, except for what looked like a pea. Nigel instantly thought of the little black and blue pills that had caused so much trouble. He briefly wondered what Draco was playing at.

“What is it?” he asked, not touching the pea.

Draco reached inside and put the pea in the palm of his hand. “I bet you think this is rubbish, right?”

“I think it’s something dark, actually.”

Draco snorted. “Because it’s from the Malfoys?”

“Because I’ve seen things like this that do a lot of damage to people.”

“Well I don’t know about all that, but what I do know is that this is the secret to this entire house.”

Nigel laughed. “That? It looks like leftovers from dinner!”

“Ah, the voice of doubt and ignorance,” Draco said. “Grandfather Abraxas knew what the fuck he was doing, Chaucer, let me tell you that. Within this tiny object lives some of the most powerful magic imaginable. Stuff even the Dark Lord didn’t know about.”

“In that? How can that be? Is there a spell placed on it?”

“For someone as powerful as Albus Dumbledore, you can be a real thickhead, Chaucer.” Draco scowled. “As long as this stone remains in this gold box in this desk in this house, Malfoy Manor will always be protected against intruders.”

“That little stone?”

“You have no idea what this little stone can do,” Draco said. “Grandfather Abraxas invented it, back when he was still at Hogwarts. It has to be encased in this gold box because it interacts with the magical properties of gold, which makes it more powerful. And it has to be in this particular location in the house because it is in the absolute centre of the entire property. That’s why the desk is bolted to the floor.” He pointed down. Nigel looked.

“What properties does it have? How does it work to protect the house?”

“It’s made of a very rare substance that emits a high level of magical energy. A protection charm was placed on it which combined with the elements of the stone and is reinforced by the properties of the gold box. It radiates outward at a radius that extends far beyond this property.” He dropped the stone into Nigel’s hand.

Instantly, Nigel felt a rush of power surge through his body, like electricity. He had never felt anything like it before, and he wasn’t so sure he liked it. A little afraid, he quickly handed the stone back to Draco. “That’s incredible! What does this charm do?”

“It protects the house from being demolished by any number of spells or curses. After Voldemort came back to life, the stone actually protected the house from anything Aurors could do to it. And when you did that massive spell that felled nearly every Death Eater, this stone protected the house from being bashed into splinters.”

Nigel laughed. “Bashed into splinters? By me?”

“Of course! I’m telling you, Chaucer, this house is a proverbial fortress for you. In fact, you might want to move your entire office here.”

As Draco spoke, Nigel was overwhelmed by a terrible thought. “I can’t just move my whole office here, Draco,” he said. “First of all, the Minister wouldn’t have it. Can I ask you something? I’m just curious about something.”

“Shoot.”

“Remember that girl I met in Vegas? The one in the buffet?”

“Sure. She was cute. We all assumed you shagged her or something. You missed a real party later on, mate, let me tell you. Even Crabbe got some action, and that’s saying something! So who is this bird?”

“She’s the daughter of a man called Harold Quinn. Have you heard that name before?”

“Are you interrogating me?”

“I’m just asking.”

“I don’t know that name.”

“You’ve never heard of Krista Quinn?”

“Never. Should I have?”

“I don’t know.”

“Lots of people are called Quinn, Chaucer.”

Nigel nodded. “True.”

But Draco frowned. “And I don’t appreciate being treated like a suspect!”

“Look, mate, it’s not like that,” Nigel explained. “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this whole thing. It’s just that I’m running every single scenario through my head, including the improbable ones.” He nodded concedingly at Draco.

Draco sighed. “And the impossible ones, I suppose?”

Nigel smiled. “And the impossible ones. What’s got me spinning is just how she knew where I would be. Could it be that she’s been tracking me somehow? She had that black pill on her…”

“What black pill?” Draco asked, now troubled.

“Snape told me about it.”

“Then why don’t you suspect Snape?”

“He didn’t give me the black pill. I told you, Krista had it. I took it from her bag and Snape analysed it for me. It freaked him out!”

“So what are you doing about it?”

“I’ve been looking more deeply into Heroditus Q. This girl I met is his daughter.”

Draco raised his eyebrows at that. “You’re joking! Really?”

“It just can’t be a coincidence that she just happened to encounter me in that casino in Las Vegas. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“She’s American, right? So I guess she didn’t go to Hogwarts.” Draco set the gold box on the desk and sat opposite Nigel. He conjured up a plate of biscuits for the two of them.

“Cooking are we?” Nigel asked, taking a biscuit.

Draco laughed. “Get real, Chaucer. I conjured them from the kitchen. Want tea?” In an instant, two cups of hot tea appeared on the table between them. “What about Polyjuice potion?” Draco asked.

“No thanks, I’m on a diet,” Nigel replied with a wink.

“No, stupid, I mean, what if the girl—if she is a girl—used Polyjuice potion? Perhaps you were tracked and followed from England.”

“But she wouldn’t have known that we were going to Vegas. We decided that at the last moment.”

“But if she tracked you by magic…”

Nigel’s heart sank once again. He knew that many witches and wizards could trace magic, but he couldn’t help thinking about Sophia. “But that makes no sense. She wasn’t in the room with us. It was just the four of us the whole time.”

Draco scowled. “True.”

“Unless…”

“Now hold on, Chaucer!” Draco exclaimed.

“I wasn’t going to accuse you of anything, mate! Don’t get your boxers in a bunch! I was going to suggest that perhaps someone was in the house without any of us realising it.”

“Or outside, looking in.”

“Didn’t you say the house is unplottable?” Nigel corrected him.

“Oh yeah. OK, dumb idea.” Draco paused, thinking deeply. “What if…what if the person was an Animagus?”

“We’d know that, wouldn’t we?” Nigel said cynically. “I don’t recall seeing any animals in the house, and I know I haven’t been stalked by dogs or cats recently.”

“You really are thick sometimes,” Draco replied impatiently. “An Animagus can also take the form of an insect. A couple of years before you became a wizard, there was this witch who transformed into a bug.”

Nigel’s eyes widened. He suddenly realised that if Draco were right, the Animagus could be in the room at that precise moment, listening away to their every word. That also meant the Animagus could…

In a panic, Nigel placed a finger on his lips as if to say “shh.” With a wave of his hand, he conjured up parchment and quill, then scrawled a note to Draco.

_She could be here right now._

Draco replied,

_What should we do?_

Nigel motioned for Draco to stand up. He pointed at the door and motioned for Draco to leave the room.

“Stand out in the hall for a minute,” he whispered in Draco’s ear.

“Why?”

“Just do it!” Nigel hissed quietly.

With Draco now safely out of the room, Nigel pulled out his wand and waved it in a wide arc from one end of the room to the other. “Insiste temporis!” he commanded as a flash of deep blue light emerged from his wand in delicate waves. Silence. Stillness.

“What was that?” Draco asked.

“Stay there,” Nigel ordered. He entered the room, frozen in time, and began to scan every square inch of it, every surface, from the floor to the ceiling, levitating himself in order to inspect the tops of the high shelves. Draco looked on curiously, but obeyed Nigel’s order to stay put. After about ten minutes of detailed searching, Nigel finally zeroed in on what he was looking for: a common housefly. This housefly, however, was different—the top of its head glittered.

Nigel conjured a thick glass, then, using his wand, guided the immobilized fly carefully into it. He then conjured a lid, which he fastened to the glass so that the fly couldn’t escape.

“Finite incantatum!” he said, sighing heavily.

“Is it safe to come in?” Draco asked apprehensively. “What the hell did you just do?”

“I froze the action in this room so the fly on the wall couldn’t escape.”

“Amazing, Chaucer. You really are incredible. But isn’t it bad to mess with time?”

“It was safe in this context because I froze time within the locale of this room.”

“How can that be? Won’t that mess up time in general?”

“When I wrote the spell, I included a sort of fast-forward feature.”

“Fast-forward?”

Nigel chuckled. “Sorry, mate, that’s a muggle term. I just mean that when the spell is lifted, time within the specific place is connected back to common time.”

“How did you manage that?”

“Trial and error.”

“So if you can freeze time,” Draco asked, “can you go back in time?”

“I don’t know about that, I mean, I know about time-turners that people use. But I’m not interested in writing a spell to do that.”

“Think about it,” Draco said, sitting back in his chair. “You could take back all the stupid things you ever did.”

Nigel knew what his friend meant. He didn’t respond, knowing how deeply Draco regretted his own past.

“So what are you going to do with that jar?” Draco asked. “What’s in it?”

“Well, my hope is that the Animagus is in it.”

“Hang on, Nigel! I was just speculating about Animagi! I didn’t mean there really was one!”

“I think you were right, actually. It makes perfect sense! And this fly looks very strange, very different from a usual fly.” He placed the jar in the pocket of his robes. “Look, Draco, I’m going to return to the Ministry right now to check this out. If I’m wrong, then there’s no harm done and I’ll just look a bit foolish.”

“A lot foolish.”

“Whatever. At any rate, this is something that can’t wait.” He headed for the door, but paused, suddenly realising the awkwardness of the whole situation. “I’m sorry about this, Draco,” he said, a bit dejected. “It’s…

“The job,” Draco said. “I get it.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, then you can show me the rest of the place.”

“It’s OK, mate, really.”

With a heavy heart and a guilty conscience, Nigel reluctantly made his way back to the Ministry, where he had Donna gather the Minister, Arthur, Gawain, Kingsley, Hermione, Moody and Tonks into his office. He set the jar on the floor in the centre of the office and had everyone stand around it. Nigel explained his Animagus theory to the group, expecting peals of laughter at his expense. To his astonishment, no one laughed, chuckled, guffawed or even cracked a smirk. Rather, they all looked with a morbid curiosity at the little fly in the jar, wondering if it really was an Animagus.

“Who wants to do the honours?” Arthur asked the group.

“How about you, Arthur?” Nigel suggested.

“I don’t know how to reveal an Animagus. Perhaps you, Minister?”

Scrimgeour nodded and pulled out his wand, whilst Nigel crouched down, ready to open the jar. “On the count of three, aye Chaucer? One—two—three!”

Nigel snapped his fingers with a sharp _click!_ The lid flew off the jar and the Minister jumped immediately into action.

“Aperi ipse!” he shouted. A shaft of white light flew out of his wand, blasting the jar into smithereens and encasing the fly. In a flash, a flustered, frustrated, furious young woman stood before them, frantically searching for a way out of the crowded office. Kingsley and Moody grabbed her by the arms while Tonks secured the woman’s hands behind her back with a pair of handcuffs. The woman spit in Moody’s face.

Gawain stood ready with a bottle of Veritaserum, which, with effort, he forced into her mouth. She was quite short but very muscular, with blunt cut light blonde hair and hard, coarse features. Clearly, Nigel realised this wasn’t Krista, though that didn’t mean the women weren’t connected in some way.

Nigel began the interrogation.

“What is your name?” he demanded.

The woman struggled against the Veritaserum, but to no avail. “Brenda Taylor,” she replied.

“Taylor? How are you connected to Geoffrey Taylor?” Nigel asked.

Brenda struggled more. “I’m…married to…Aaron…Taylor,” she spluttered.

“Who is Krista Quinn?” Nigel asked.

Brenda growled at him.

“WHO IS KRISTA QUINN?” Nigel demanded.

“She’s my sister!” Brenda shouted.

“And Heroditus Q is your father?” Nigel asked.

Again, Brenda struggled. Gawain stood ready to give her more Veritaserum. “Yes!” she barked.

“You will tell us every inch of your plans,” Nigel said.

“And you will tell us who your leader is,” Scrimgeour said.

Brenda laughed. “To what effect?” she asked. “You think we’re an organised movement, that we’re like the Death Eaters or something. We’re more powerful than the Death Eaters ever were, precisely because we are NOT a specific movement! We don’t have a leader, you ass!”

“Yeah right,” Scrimgeour growled. “And I was born yesterday.”

“Perhaps you were,” Brenda replied coolly.

Gawain grabbed her and forced more Veritaserum down her throat. She choked and spluttered, but couldn’t spit the potion out.

“Again, Brenda,” Scrimgeour said sternly, “who is your leader?”

“We don’t have a leader!” she repeated.

“That’s a lie!” Hermione cried out. “You must have a leader!”

“She’s under Veritaserum,” Nigel reminded her. “What about Taylor? Your brother-in-law?”

“Geoff doesn’t tell us what to do,” Brenda said. “He’s greater than that. We don’t need orders to do what we need to do. All we need is inspiration. This is a revolution, and you will never be able to stop it!” She laughed. “You will never catch us, you idiot boy! Wake up! Our strength and our survival lie in our disorganization!”

It occurred to Nigel that she was completely right. This was more than just a group or a club or an order. This was more than a gang of thugs creating havoc. Rather, this was a philosophy, something to touch the hearts of individuals. These were not drones like the Death Eaters, but individual witches and wizards seduced by the notion of coming out of hiding. Nigel understood the allure very well, even felt temptations himself to reveal his true identity to his muggle friends. He had felt the pain and isolation of having to lie to those he loved, and still felt tremendous guilt for putting his parents in jeopardy, unable to explain himself openly to his neighbours.

But no. Brenda simply couldn’t have her way. It was far too dangerous for the wizarding world—Nigel knew this instinctively. As much as the temptation flirted with his conscience, he understood that to give in was to betray both his world and the muggle world. The code of secrecy had to be maintained, no matter what.

Even after Nigel had Brenda sent to Azkaban to await a trial by the Wizengamot, her words haunted his thoughts. She was right—this truly was a revolution. How many other witches and wizards had hungered for the opportunity Geoffrey Taylor presented them? How many already agreed with his philosophy? How could they ever be discovered? And what harm could they really do? That was the biggest question. Just because a wizard revealed his identity to the muggle world didn’t necessarily mean he would then use his powers against muggles—did it? Nigel couldn’t be so sure. They could use their power for fun, for entertainment, for personal gain even. Was that such a horrible thing?

But no. It just wasn’t right.

As he trudged back up the path to Malfoy Manor, Nigel barely knew what to think any more. He wondered how many people he already knew went along with Taylor’s philosophy. With a pang of guilt, he wondered whether Draco would be tempted. He wondered about Blaise and Vince and even about Harry and Hermione. Nigel knew he was grasping at straws, and that his contemplations were sheer conjecture. All the same, he couldn’t dismiss the import of those ideas—not when he, too, felt at times on the brink of telling the muggle world everything.


	17. Breaking News!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When Nigel arrived at the office, everyone was gathered around the one muggle television in the entire Ministry, watching in silent horror. Arthur spotted a puzzled Nigel and waved him over, shuttling him to the front of the little crowd. On the television, a sandy-haired, middle aged man was giving a press conference._
> 
> _“Harold Quinn,” Arthur said to Nigel._

Draco was fast asleep on the settee in the Library, his long legs dangling over the sides like a rag doll, fluffy purple socks on his big feet. He snored softly, wrapped up loosely in a rich green blanket. Nigel hated to have to wake him up, but there was one rather serious problem. He had no idea where his room was in that massive house. He vaguely thought of simply curling up on some random bed in the house, but on the other hand, he wasn’t sure how Draco would feel about that, especially if he chose the wrong bed. Nigel remembered that his friend had rather particular sleeping habits, and he didn’t want to mess about with that.

Nigel jostled Draco’s foot, which hung limply over the arm of the settee. Draco snorted loudly and turned his face to the side. A thin line of drool slithered down the side of his mouth. Nigel smirked. He pulled out a handkerchief and reached forward to wipe it away. Draco woke with a start, making Nigel jump back a couple of feet.

“What the fuck are you doing, bitch?” a groggy, irritated Draco growled.

“Waking you up, dawg,” Nigel replied with a snigger. “Come on, pretty boy, I’ll tuck you in.” He reached out a hand and pulled Draco to his feet. Draco swooned for a moment. “You OK, Malfoy?” Nigel asked.

“Got up too fast,” Draco replied, rubbing his forehead. “I guess you want to know where your room is.”

“That would help,” Nigel said lightly. “After all, I don’t want to end up sleeping on the porch.”

They walked slowly up the grand staircase together, Draco yawning and stretching his long arms as they went. He scratched his stomach. “I’m putting you in my parents’ old room.” He rounded the corner and led a stunned Nigel to the master suite.

“Hang on, mate! I can’t sleep in there!”

“Why not? It’s a great room!”

“I should take your old room and you move into the master suite,” Nigel insisted.

Draco laughed. “If you think I’m giving you the master suite because you’re an Almighty Fucking Ministry Official, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“But your parents’ room is bigger, isn’t it?”

Draco laughed again. “Actually, mine’s bigger. Father fought against it, but in the end, I had Mother on my side. That was all it took,” he said flippantly.

“I have a feeling I could learn volumes from you, Draco,” Nigel said, remembering now how magnificent Draco’s room really was. As he glanced around at the splendour of the place, he could see the difference. Draco’s room was equally extravagant but modern. This room was like something out of the 18th century. Nigel wondered if Draco would object to a bit of redecorating.

“Damn right you could,” Draco replied dryly.

As they entered the very grand, very ornate master suite, Nigel let out an involuntary gasp. Among the rich tapestries and gilded furnishing sat Nigel’s modest belongings, still in suitcases and cardboard boxes.

“I almost had the Elf unpack for you, but I figured you’d want to do that yourself,” Draco explained, as if he were apologising.

Nigel opened the door to the massive walk-in closet door, only to find it filled with spectacular, elegant robes. “Uh, what are you going to do with all these?” he asked uncomfortably. He had no idea why Draco still had all his father’s clothes in there, but he suspected that his friend was having a hard time letting go of Lucius. Nigel couldn’t exactly blame him.

Draco sat down on the bed. “Actually, I was hoping I could give them to you.”

“Me? Why? I’m not even the same size as he.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’ve taken out most of his clothes. All that’s left are the ones he never wore, or wore very rarely. No one will know the difference. Madame Malkin can take them in without a problem.”

True. But still…

“I know, but don’t you want to save them…”

“He’s not coming out, Nigel,” Draco said, a trace of pain in his voice. “Neither of them are. It’s just that…I just…I didn’t want these clothes to go to waste.” He stood up abruptly and marched into the closet, pulling out a sample robe in deep blue, trimmed in silver, lined in blood red silk. “These are really beautiful clothes, and quite frankly, you need a better wardrobe than what you’ve got.”

“My wardrobe’s okay!” Nigel said defencively.

“It’s rubbish, Chaucer. Someone in your position in the wizarding world needs a first-rate collection of robes. You’ve got it all right here, free of charge! Please, Nigel. It would mean a lot to me if you had them.”

Nigel could hardly argue with that. “Alright, Malfoy. I’ll take them. Thanks, mate. What did you do with your mum’s clothes?”

“Gave them to Granger and a couple other girls, actually—all mudb…I mean, muggle-borns. Mother would have hated that.” He smirked. “But it was great business for Madame Malkin.”

* * * * *

Nigel had a sudden realisation as he got ready for work the next morning. As he slipped into the only set of Lucius’ robes that actually fit him, Nigel began to wonder exactly what Draco did with his time during the day. He knew Draco had traveled during the summer, and that he had spent some time renovating Malfoy Manor. But now that all that was over, what precisely did Draco get up to during the day? Nigel presumed it was something perfectly innocent, but then again, when did Draco Malfoy ever do anything innocent? It wasn’t that Nigel suspected his friend of anything criminal, but that didn’t mean Draco was entirely innocent. Did it?

In a way, Nigel hoped not. It wasn’t that he wished his friend to remain corrupt or anything. Nigel just couldn’t imagine Draco suddenly becoming some sort of boring model citizen. That was fine for most people, but Draco was different. He was, in some sense, born for glory, bred for something out of the ordinary, always ripe for adventure and trouble. Nigel had never known Draco to be any other way, nor did he wish to. He saw Draco as a sort of inspiration—it wasn’t that Nigel desired to enter into the world of dark magic or anything—rather, he admired Draco’s willingness to take a risk in life and to push his limits, even in dangerous situations.

Lucius’ robes fit fairly well—this set did, anyway. They were a shade of steel blue, lined in dark green. Nigel really liked these robes. He grabbed seven more suits of robes and placed them into a conjured garment bag, then grabbed an apple and a banana from the sideboard in the dining room and apparated to the Ministry.

When he arrived, everyone was gathered around the one muggle television in the entire Ministry, watching in silent horror. Arthur spotted a puzzled Nigel and waved him over, shuttling him to the front of the little crowd. On the television, a sandy-haired, middle aged man was giving a press conference.

“Harold Quinn,” Arthur said to Nigel.

_”…for too long, we have hidden in the shadows of society, too afraid to make ourselves known to the rest of the world, too intimidated by our Ministry of Magic and their antiquated laws. That atmosphere of fear and manipulation ends today. I am here to announce that I, along with thousands of people around Britain, am a wizard. In fact, I am part of an entire, complex society of witches and wizards that is hundreds of years old…”_

“Oh gods,” Nigel whispered.

“They won’t believe him,” Hermione mumbled. “Muggles never believe it.”

“They will believe him,” Nigel said.

The man continued:

_…we were told from day one as witches and wizards that should all of you muggles know about us, you would seek magical solutions to all your problems. I am here today to give all muggles, witches and wizards a strong word of warning. No longer will we hide away and keep our magic to ourselves. No longer will we abide by the outmoded Ministry restrictions against public use of magic in the presence of muggles or even against muggles. You muggles will have no defence against us—we can penetrate your buildings, your schools, your homes, your places of commerce. And we will. Any witch or wizard who wishes to take something from you should have no shame in doing precisely that. This is a time for you all to be afraid—very afraid. You have no power against us, and the more you try and militate against us, the more impossible it will be for you to destroy us. We, on the other hand, will take great joy in destroying you or any individual who happens to get in our way.”_

And then he did the unthinkable. He took out his wand, pointed it at a random muggle reporter, shouted “Avada Kedavra!” and killed the man on the spot. Before anyone could react, he disapparated.

Everyone at the Ministry gasped and screamed in horror at the sight.

“Oh my gods!” Hermione shrieked.

“What the hell is he doing?” another shouted in disbelief.

Nigel shut his eyes and mourned. All his efforts, all the team had done these past several weeks came to nothing. In fact, it seemed to Nigel that he had made things that much worse. He was tortured by a deep regret, and he now wished he had never set foot in the Ministry at all. He should have studied to be a Healer. Arthur placed a hand on Nigel’s shoulder.

He thought painfully of the Aurors who had died not so long ago. What was it all for? Did they sacrifice themselves for a lost cause?

“Come on, Nigel,” Arthur said, his voice filled with grief, “we have work to do.”

All anyone could do in Nigel’s office was sit around the oversized conference table in stunned silence. All looked to Nigel for some sense of direction or explanation, but there was nothing he could say for a full five minutes. Even the Minister was at a loss for words. Hermione cried, and Gawain ground his teeth so intensely that Nigel could hear him at the opposite end of the table.

Finally, Nigel spoke. “I think it’s time for us to change our strategy,” he said calmly.

“And give up,” the Minister grumbled.

“No! Never give up!” Nigel replied, horrified. “But we do need a tactical shift.”

Kingsley snorted sarcastically. “You can say that again!”

“We need to shift our efforts from a simple inquiry to a full-scale assault,” Nigel said. “There is no way the muggle authorities will be able to contain this disaster, but with a combined effort of law enforcement, legislation and the Wizengamot. The first thing we need to do is to review and strengthen our secrecy laws.”

“They’re fine as they are!” Scrimgeour complained.

“They’ve just been blown to shit!” Nigel shot back.

“I agree with Nigel,” Arthur said. “It’s not about changing the law, other than to intensify the penalties for lawbreaking. That makes a lot of sense.”

“When where the secrecy laws written?” Nigel asked.

“The last time they were revised was in the 1970’s,” Hermione said. “It was right after Lord Voldemort came to power. Dumbledore was instrumental in the process.”

Nigel hated the contrast he suspected Hermione was trying to make. “Well, I’m sure he would be all in favour of a revision,” he said. “After all, the situation is entirely different now. It’s not just a contained and countable group of Death Eaters. The offenders could be anyone, even people with no criminal record.”

A few people mumbled in tentative agreement.

“We also need to respond with our own press conference,” Nigel continued.

“I think that’s a bad idea,” Gawain said.

“Heroditus Q did Avada Kedavra on muggle television!” Nigel snapped. “It’s no secret we exist now!”

“But the muggles are going to think that we’re all like that!” Gawain snapped back.

“Not if we approach it the right way,” Nigel replied. “Look, I used to be a muggle, so I know what will work with them. Heroditus Q has just confirmed muggle fears of wizards and witches, and we need to dispel those fears. Otherwise, we will have no peace in the wizarding world again.”

“I agree,” Hermione said. “Years ago, muggles and wizards were able to agree to keep away from each other, and so, for many years, things were just fine between us. Until today, we had no reason to interfere with the muggle world, and muggles had no reason to interfere with us.”

Arthur looked at a heavy-hearted Nigel. “It’s a question of unity, once again,” Arthur said. “Uniting disparate groups and seeking peace. Just like what you did last year at Hogwarts.”

“Hold on!” Scrimgeour exclaimed. “This is entirely different, Arthur! This isn’t just about old house rivalries!”

“It’s far more important than that,” Arthur replied coolly. “Nigel, you must be the one to do the press conference. You’re young, attractive, well-spoken and, as you pointed out, familiar with muggle society far more than any of us, including Miss Granger.”

Hermione nodded in agreement.

Nigel soon discovered that preparing a press conference was easier said than done. The first thing he had to do was to inform his family and friends about this—he couldn’t just go on national television, reveal his identity as a wizard and leave his loved ones out of the loop. His parents were far more understanding and supportive than he imagined they would be. They had watched Heroditus Q’s statement in horror, worrying only about how this would impact Nigel. Mr. Chaucer, therefore, was rather proud of Nigel’s desire to go on the record with who he was and to try and build a bridge between the two worlds.

“Just be careful, son,” he said.

“Are you taking your potion?” Nigel asked.

“Every day,” Mrs. Chaucer said. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it. I mix it in with pancakes.” She frowned. “You look terrible, honey,” she said, tracing his jaw with the tip of her finger. “I’m sorry all this is happening to you.”

“It’s not just me, Mum,” Nigel said. “My whole world is now totally exposed. This is a disaster! It’s like we have to start all over now that the muggles know about us, especially now that they think we’re all violent killers. I’m so angry about this.”

“What can we do?” Mr. Chaucer asked.

“Honestly, there isn’t much, Dad. You can be sure that people around here are going to ask you a lot of questions about me. Just tell them to ask me personally. The more you can stay out of it, the better it will be for you and for me.”

Lucy wasn’t so understanding. The moment Nigel apparated to Cambridge, now dressed in muggle clothes, the entire university was talking about the statement and the murder they had just witnessed on television. Classes had been halted, the library empty, the campus filled with concerned and scared students and professors, Lucy among them.

“This is awful, Nigel,” Lucy said, in full panic. They sat in her room with the door locked and the shades fully drawn. Lucy paced up and down whilst Nigel sat nervously on her bed. “You should hear what everyone is saying about you people,” she continued. “They’re saying you’re a bunch of murdering freaks and misfits and criminals. I want to stand up for you and say that not all wizards are like that, but it’s impossible! If I try to defend you, I’ll be the school pariah!”

“Well geez, I’m sorry I’m making you an outcast, Lucy,” Nigel grumbled. “Are you taking the potion I gave you?”

“Sometimes.”

Nigel handed her another bottle of the Shield Potion. “You have to take it every day, Lucy, especially now. Until we can contain this situation, it’s imperative that you take this every single day. You need to worry less about being a pariah and more about killed by Avada Kedavra or some poisonous pill!”

She sighed and sat next to him on the bed. “I know, Nigel. I’m sorry, baby. This is just really scary for me.”

“You and me both.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. Thankfully, she didn’t pull away. In fact, she pulled him closer and kissed him more intensely, lying back on the bed and pulling him down over her. She kissed his lips, his neck and shoulders, tugging on his shirt to pull it off.

Nigel sat up for a moment. “Let me,” he said, pulling his sweater over his head and flinging it on the floor next to the bed. Lucy unbuttoned her blouse and tossed it next to Nigel’s sweater. Their kiss was tender, exploring, utterly passionate and intimate, growing wilder by the moment.

And then Nigel stopped. He sat up, prying Lucy’s hands out of the back of his trousers.

“We can’t do this, Lucy,” he said, catching his breath. “It’s not fair to you or to me.”

“Nigel, I want to,” Lucy said, reaching out to unbutton his trousers. Nigel pushed her hand away.

“Lucy, no,” he insisted. “I’m sorry.” He felt like a heel.

Lucy blushed deeply. “Oh my goodness, Nigel,” she said, taken aback. “I’m the one who should apologise. Can we just forget we did this?”

Nigel kissed her again. “I don’t want to forget it, Lucy. I just want to do it when it’s right. Now is not the right time. I’m sorry I gave you the wrong idea. It’s all my fault.”

“Will you keep me safe?” she asked. “You won’t let those awful wizards hurt me, will you?”

“As long as you take your potion, you’ll be just fine. How you handle it with muggles is another matter. That’s up to you.”

* * * * *

Back at the Ministry, Nigel changed back to his wizard’s robes and continued to prepare for his upcoming press conference. Arthur came in armed with a thick book bound in black leather. It smelled dusty and old. Nigel made a face.

“What the bloody hell is that?” he asked.

“The law,” Arthur replied. “What’s that on your neck?” he asked, pointing to the little bruise Nigel sported just under his left ear.

Nigel turned beet red. Arthur grinned.

“Visiting Lucy?” he asked.

“Can you vanish it for me?” Nigel asked meekly.

Arthur pointed his wand at it, and in a flash, the hickey was gone.

“It’s nice to see that you have time for extra curricular activity, Nigel,” Arthur said dryly.

Nigel scowled. “It just sort of…happened. We didn’t…you know…do _that_.”

“I should hope not! You’re far too young for that. And far too unmarried.”

“So what the hell should I say in this press conference?” Nigel asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Well, what do you think is important for the muggles to know?”

“That we’re not all a bunch of murdering psychos. And that we want peace. And that we want to be left alone. And that we don’t want to interfere with muggle society. And that we’re working hard to prosecute law-breakers. How’s that?”

“Rambling but good. I think you’ll be able to make a good speech out of that.”

Nigel spent the rest of the afternoon working on his statement for the muggle press. Hermione, in the meantime, used her muggle contacts to arrange for Nigel’s press conference to take place the very next day.

“That’s a bit soon, Hermione,” Nigel complained.

“You have to do it tomorrow,” she said plainly. “You can’t let any time pass, especially since a man was killed by one of us.”

Nigel nodded. “I know. I just wish someone else would do it. Like the Minister. Anyone but me.”

“You’re the best candidate, Nigel. You’re the one in charge of this inquiry, so it’s natural that you should speak out. Just trust yourself, and you’ll be fine.”

“How are Ron and Harry taking all this?” he asked, suddenly wondering about his other wizard friends. “They must be freaked out, considering they’re in law enforcement and all.”

“Ron is bitter. It’s hard to tell Harry’s reaction. He left his training early today and no one knows where he went.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Nigel replied, concerned. “You don’t suppose he went to warn his muggle relatives, do you?”

“The Dursleys? I doubt it.”

“Can you contact him somehow? Use your coin from the DA or something?”

“Don’t worry about Harry,” Hermione said. “Just worry about your press conference. And talk to Snape about this.”

“Oh, I have every intention of doing that,” Nigel replied. “This is going to be hard for him. He may be half muggle, but he has no idea how muggles function whatsoever.”

In fact, after Nigel completed a rough draft of his statement two hours later, he apparated directly to the front gates of Hogwarts, where Hagrid let him inside. As he walked behind Hagrid toward the castle, Nigel feared for him—there was no way any muggle would be able to see someone like Hagrid as anything other than a menace. He hoped Professor McGonagall had instructed Hagrid not to stray from Hogwarts at all.

As Nigel entered the castle, every student stopped in their tracks, looking at him with a mixture of concern and anxiety. For a moment, Nigel felt compelled to say something, but thought better of that—it was far too early to make any statement, and with the bet on his life still in play, he didn’t want to aggravate or provoke anyone in the school. Rather, Nigel waved to a few people, shook hands with others, and after some quick hellos to a few friends, including Ginny Weasley, he made his way down to the Dungeons to find his cousin.

What he found instead shocked him. Walking toward him in the dim corridor was Sophia Maimonides, looking angry and petulant. She walked straight up to Nigel and got right in his face.

“I hear you’ve been spreading rumours about me,” she said stiffly.

“Not rumours. Just asking some questions,” Nigel replied. “If you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to go.”

“He’s not there,” she said, her voice ice cold.

“Where is he?”

She shrugged. “I’m not his keeper,” she said, walking casually away.

Where was Severus? What had happened to him?


	18. For the Good of Wizardkind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel has to respond to Harold Quinn's open threat, but at what cost?

He didn’t want to believe that Snape was gone. That was just silly, mad, unreasonable. Nigel knew he was overreacting. Still, how could Snape not be in his office or in his classroom at this hour? Snape was always there, or so Nigel had always thought. He bounded into the Potions classroom, only to find—nothing. No one around. No cauldrons, no sign of his cousin. This was beyond strange.

Nigel rushed out of the empty room and straight up to McGonagall’s office. Problem: he didn’t know the password. _William Wallace_ no longer worked, and anything remotely Scottish Nigel tried didn’t work either.

“Dammit!” he grumbled. 

All he could do was sit and wait until someone came by who knew the password, or until Professor McGonagall emerged from her office. For twenty minutes, not a single person came by—no one at all. But then, footsteps. Closer. Closer. Now a shadow. And now…

Damn. Only Mr. Filch.

Nigel stood up. “Hi, Argus,” he said diplomatically. “Say, do you know the password for the Headmistress’ office?”

Filch looked him up and down with disdain. “Sure I know it,” he replied, not stopping.

Fine, Nigel thought. Play it that way. But then the stone gargoyles moved and the door opened. More footsteps coming down the staircase. Heavy, likely male footsteps. Nigel sighed with relief.

“Severus!” he cried. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you!”

Snape scowled at him. “Whatever is your problem, Nigel?” he asked sardonically. “You’d think I’d died or something.”

“I thought you might have!”

Snape rolled his eyes. “You must have run into Sophia.”

“You must have had a row with her.”

“That hardly covers it,” he replied bitterly. “You must be here regarding that statement this morning.”

“Precisely,” Nigel said. 

“That’s what Professor McGonagall and I were just discussing.”

“Just you two?”

“And a couple of other teachers.”

“But not…”

“No, not her.”

“You and I need to talk. Will you come to Malfoy Manor with me?”

“Why on earth should I go there?” Snape asked.

“Privacy. A day away from the little monsters. Come on, Severus, you need a break.”

“From what?”

“From everything. From her.”

Snape raised an eyebrow and frowned. “Where did you get those robes?” he queried. “They look like something Lucius would wear.” 

Nigel blushed hotly. Snape took Nigel by the arm and escorted him back down the stairs to the entrance hall, saying nothing the entire way. Nigel tried to figure out the nature of his cousin’s silence, but couldn’t.

At the foot of the stairs, Nigel finally spoke up. “What is it, Severus? What’s going on?”

“You never cease to amaze me at your lack of discretion, Chaucer,” he sneered. Several students passed, whispering and giggling as they went.

“We need to talk, but not here,” Nigel insisted. “Please.”

“Muffliato!” Snape whispered. “I will come to you later tonight. After midnight.” Without another word, he swept away, barking at a group of First Year Hufflepuffs to get back to their House immediately before he docked the ten points each. The little monsters ran for their lives. 

Nigel worried. Snape didn’t look quite right. He didn’t seem his usual obnoxious self, but rather looked tired and worried and…hurting. Nigel knew how jealously Snape guarded his private life and his feelings, but he couldn’t help but want to help somehow. Naturally this was likely impossible. The last thing Nigel wanted to do was embarrass his cousin or violate that sacred privacy he had fostered over the years. He had to let it go. Snape was a grown man, capable of making his own choices and living his own life. Far be it from Nigel, as a mere youth, to start meddling in his cousin’s personal affairs.

Snape didn’t look that much better when he arrived at Malfoy Manor at one in the morning. Nigel had finished his speech for the press conference, and wanted for Snape to read it over and make suggestions. But when Snape entered the Library, escorted by the tiny House Elf, it became apparent to both Nigel and Draco that Snape shouldn’t be bothered with all that. Snape sat down on the settee and accepted a proffered glass of mead from Draco.

“You look like hell, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Draco said.

“Always discreet, aren’t you, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape said silkily. He drank deeply from his glass.

“How’s Miss Maimonides?” Draco asked.

Snape snarled briefly. “Near to being sacked, I fear.”

“Sacked? What happened? Did you tell Minerva about her?” Nigel asked.

“I said nothing to Professor McGonagall,” Snape replied. “Rather, it was the students who complained.”

“What did they say?” Nigel asked.

Snape searched for the right words. “There were certain questions about some of the material she was presenting in class, especially today. This has been going on for some time, but after Heroditus Q’s statement to the muggle press, it has now become far more serious.”

Draco drained his glass and poured more. “Wow,” he said, sitting back. He burped. “She sure pulled the wool over your eyes, sir.”

“She fooled a lot of people,” Nigel said. “Me, too.”

“It’s just because she’s cute. That’s how women get away with things. They know we men are real dupes when it comes to a pretty face and a hot arse.”

Snape rolled his eyes derisively. “Straight to the point, Malfoy, as usual.”

“But seriously, sir, it’s true,” Draco said defencively. “I think only a blind man would have been immune to her.”

Nigel nodded. So did Snape.

“Anyway,” Nigel said, “are you OK?”

“I can take care of myself, Nigel,” Snape replied. “I’m a big boy. You have better things to worry about, truth be told. Are you prepared for the muggles?”

Nigel produced his speech and handed the parchment to Snape. “Well, this is what I have so far. I think it’s pretty good. Do you see anything I should change?”

Snape glanced it over, frowning as he read. “I never thought it would ever come to this,” he said heavily. “This is a sad day in our history, Chaucer.”

“Do you think I should do it?”

“You have no choice. Heroditus Q took away any choice the Ministry may have had in keeping our world a secret.” Snape handed the parchment back to Nigel. “Say as little as you can, Nigel. Be precise and be very general. No mention of Hogwarts, no mention of Hogsmeade, no mention of where the Ministry is located, no mention of Lord Voldemort—that’ll be enough to scare the muggles shitless.”

“What about Azkaban?” Nigel asked.

“Mention Azkaban. Muggles like to know that people are getting punished. Mention the Wizengamot, too. Muggles like the courts.”

Nigel grinned. “Say, Severus, you know a lot more about muggles than I thought!”

Snape looked him directly in the eye. “Just remember one thing, Nigel. What you say must have a clear purpose. This is not to appease the muggles or apologise for being who we are. This is for the good of wizardkind.”

* * * * *

“Thank you all for coming today,” Nigel began. He stood in front of the Houses of Parliament before a thick crowd of muggle reporters from all parts of the globe. BBC, ABC, Reuters, CNN, even Al Jazeera, all ready to find out what this handsome young wizard had to say. Camera flashes went off like wildfire as Nigel stood ready to start his speech. Nigel could sense the tension—even without Legilimency, he knew that each and every one of these reporters expected him to be just as creepy and freakish as Heroditus Q, perhaps even more so. Therefore, Nigel had to prove the opposite, as Snape said, for the good of wizardkind.

“I would like to open my remarks today by introducing myself. My name is Nigel Chaucer, and I am a wizard. The wizard who spoke on television yesterday, a Mr. Harold Quinn, does not represent the average witch or wizard whatsoever. For many generations, in fact, witches and wizards have lived alongside muggles very peacefully. We lived our lives and you lived yours, and for the most part, there was peace. This is how the vast majority of us in the magical community wish to leave things.

“Therefore, when Mr. Quinn spoke out in such a reckless and menacing way, we at the Ministry of Magic had no other option but to respond. We recognise and celebrate the integrity and beauty of the muggle world, and we have no wish to interfere with your daily lives, regardless of what Mr. Quinn might have said yesterday. In fact, many witches and wizards, myself included, come from muggle families. We have no interest in destroying muggle society whatsoever. 

“I will not lie to you—Mr. Quinn and his adherents do pose a danger. However, I want to assure you that apprehending him, a Mr. Geoffrey Taylor and their followers is the top priority of the Ministry. Each and every one of our Aurors, that is, dark wizard catchers, are working extremely aggressively to put an end to this crisis.

“You will need to be on your guard to some degree, however, we hope this will come to an end soon. There are no words to express my regret and my anger at those witches and wizards who have sought to abuse their powers and their gifts. The Ministry is at work making available a hotline for any muggle who has been victimised by a dark wizard. Once we have a number, we will be sure to alert you in the media. In the meantime, I urge you to live your lives as usual and not to allow these renegades to manipulate you. If you do that, then the dark wizards win and the rest of us lose out. And now, I will take a few questions.”

Cameras flashed like wildfire, and the shouts of eager reporters was almost deafening to Nigel. He pointed to a middle aged reporter who looked somewhat like Mr. Chaucer.

“Yes?” Nigel said politely.

“Are you trying to tell us that this magic is real?” he asked.

“It is very real.” More shouting from the reporters. “But nearly all magic,” Nigel continued, “is used for harmless purposes. We use magic in the same way you muggles use technology—to make life more convenient.”

“Can you disappear and reappear?” a reporter asked.

Nigel disapparated and reapparated ten feet to his left. The crowd gasped and applauded in shock and amazement. It took a couple of minutes for Nigel to quiet the reporters down.

“I should add that for us, magic is not used for entertainment purposes. We use it to conduct our daily lives, just as you muggles use technology. You use electricity and we use magic. It’s all from the same source, but channeled differently.”

“Are you involved in Wicca?” another reporter asked.

Nigel shrugged, fighting desperately against the temptation to say something sarcastic to him. “Personally, I’m C of E. I cannot speak for others. Wicca is primarily a muggle spiritual path. Authentic wizardry is quite different. There is no religious dimension per se to what we do. Magic is simply a means of connecting to the energy of the universe and using it in different ways. It’s not something one can acquire by effort. It’s a gift, pure and simple.”

“How did the Ministry of Magic allow this situation to get so out of control?” another reporter asked sternly.

“In the past several months, we were dealing with another dark wizard who was causing many serious problems for us. This current crisis only emerged after the Dark Lord was killed,” Nigel explained. “In a way, there was a sort of void in the world of dark magic and these individuals, such as the man who spoke yesterday, rushed to take the Dark Lord’s place.”

“So they’re serious?”

Nigel hesitated. How much should he really say? “They are serious, but so are we at the Ministry. It is imperative that you leave it to us to handle—muggle law enforcement really have no means to contain these people, but we do. The wizard prison, Azkaban, is extremely well equipped to keep these dark wizards far away from you and your families.”

“But how soon will you arrest these people?” another worried reporter asked.

“We are making strides as I speak. As I indicated earlier, our very best Aurors are hard at work locating and arresting these dark witches and wizards. I’ll take one more question.” Nigel pointed to a pretty, red-haired reporter.

“How soon do you think this all will end?” she asked.

Nigel sighed. “There’s no guarantee of it ending any time soon, unfortunately,” he replied, wishing he could say otherwise. “The best thing I can say is that we are conducting a very careful, thorough and aggressive inquiry into this situation, and have in fact, arrested several individuals already. All the hopes and prayers of the wizarding world are that this will end very quickly so we can all get back to normal.” 

He stepped back, waved to the crowd of reporters who still shouted questions at him. Flashbulbs continued to go off all around, nearly blinding Nigel as he made his way off the dais. People reached out to touch him, grab at him, get his attention in any way they could. Nigel could feel their tension and fear, and in truth, he felt the same way. He feared for his parents, for Lucy, for his muggle friends, even for Draco and Snape. More than anything, as he made his way through the thick crowd, Nigel wished he could take it all away with a wave of his wand or a sweep of his hand.

But that was impossible. Heroditius Q and Geoffrey Taylor had seen to that.

Nigel, flanked by Kingsley Shaklebolt and Arthur Weasley, got into a Ministry car as quickly as they could and rushed back to the office.

“Sorry we didn’t apparate,” Arthur said. “We figured you needed some time before taking the next step in this case.”

Nigel nodded. “So how did I do? Should I have disapparated like that?”

“There was no reason not to disapparate,” Arthur replied sourly. “After all, it’s not like we’re a secret any longer.”

“Nigel, you were perfect, as usual.” Shaklebolt smiled. 

Nigel blushed a little. Shaklebolt’s answer made him a bit angry, actually. This was no time to revel in compliments on his performance. On the other hand, of course, Nigel did ask the question. He leaned his head against the window and looked at the passing traffic. Arthur turned around nervously.

“I think we’re being followed,” he said to the driver.

“The Ministry’s unplottable, right?” Nigel asked.

“Sure, but we can still lead someone there,” Arthur replied. “Can we lose them? Does this car have an invisibility booster?”

“Sorry, Mr. Weasley,” the driver said. “No luck. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

The driver suddenly took a sharp left-hand turn at the next street and then another quick left, then sped down four blocks, to an area largely deserted. Then, the driver uttered something incomprehensible, then smiled and returned to the main road. All Nigel could do was trust him. That was all any of them could do. Before long, the very able driver got them all back safely to the Ministry.

As Nigel walked through the corridor toward his office, everyone stopped what they were doing to give him a wild round of applause and clap him on the back. Donna kissed him on the cheek, which made Nigel turn bright red.

“Come on, people, we’ve got work to do,” he said, trying to sound as businesslike as he could manage.

Twenty-four people were waiting for Nigel and Arthur the moment they arrived in Nigel’s office. They were already seated around the long conference table, leafing through stacks of parchments and glancing at charts and graphs spread out across the table. They were murmuring to each other in a low hum, but the moment Nigel entered, a reverent silence fell. Nigel cleared his throat.

“Well, then, where are we on locating Taylor?” he asked.

“We’ve got a team of five Aurors and one hitwitch on it, sir,” Gawain replied.

“Good,” Nigel said, noting a few things down on a long scroll of parchment. “And have we implemented our new security measures here?”

Gawain turned a light shade of pink. “We’re still hashing out the details on that.”

Nigel frowned. “What details? You’re not squabbling over minutiae are you?”

“We’re just finalising the action plan, sir, actually,” Gawain replied. “We’re starting with the more sensitive departments, and then moving down the line.”

Nigel shook his head. “Every witch or wizard is equally dangerous, regardless of department.”

“That was my view, but I was overridden.”

Nigel raised his eyebrow as Snape would have. “Well you just tell them that I disagree. They need to go with your plan of action. It’s much more sensible. Anyone in this building is privy to some very delicate information, and as far as I can tell, we’ve all been pretty loose about sharing this information.”

“You’re not suggesting the departments stop communicating, are you, Chaucer?” Scrimgeour asked skeptically.

“Of course not, Rufus. I mean that because of how we do things around here, everyone has to be considered as a potential suspect. I realise that sounds paranoid, but considering that no one knew that Heroditus Q worked for us for years tells me that perhaps a little paranoia isn’t such a bad tactic.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“OK,” Nigel continued. “Where are we on the Department of Mysteries inquiry?”

“I found out loads about Maimonides,” said Tonks. 

“You talked to Severus about her?”

“Among others. She was never a Death Eater, but she was a member of a society called Acheryn.”

“The group responsible for those murders over the summer?” Scrimgeour asked.

“She belonged for a short while, but left about three months before she went to work here at the Ministry.”

“Was this while she was in Auror training?” Nigel asked. “That would have been right after she left school. A year after the Potters died.”

“She was an Auror?” Hermione asked, horrified.

“She trained for a couple of years but left,” Nigel said.

“Well anyway,” Tonks continued, “at Hogwarts she was a Prefect but not Head Girl. She played Quidditch during her third and fourth years, but quit when she made Prefect. Whilst she was at Hogwarts, she was on the school newspaper staff.”

“Hogwarts had a school newspaper?” Nigel asked, greatly curious.

“They stopped it in the late 80’s, maybe a couple of years before Harry Potter started school. Apparently it was turning into a scandal sheet, and finally, the teachers put a stop to it, especially Professor McGonagall. She achieved seven O.W.L’s and nine N.E.W.T’s. All O-grades.”

“Impressive,” Nigel said. “Did she have a specialty at school? Any favourite subject or academic honours?”

“She was excellent at Potions, according to McGonagall, and also at Defence against the Dark Arts,” Tonks said.

Nigel pondered deeply, completely distracted by Acheryn. “Hermione,” he said, “I want you to look into the history of Acheryn and Malus. I want to know how far they go back, and if Malus grew out of Acheryn, or vice versa.”

“Does it matter?” she asked.

“It’ll tell us who the real leaders are and how deep Taylor’s influence is,” Nigel replied.

The meeting went on late into the night, interrupted only by a knock at the door. Donna stuck her head in to catch Arthur’s attention.

“Excuse me,” Arthur said, getting up to see what she wanted.

“I need to see you outside,” she whispered. She looked annoyed. Arthur followed her out.

As the discussion turned to new tactics for tracing the whereabouts of Geoffrey Taylor, an ashen faced Arthur returned to the office, motioning for Hermione to talk to him outside. Nigel briefly worried that something was wrong in Arthur’s family. Could Molly be sick? Could Ron have gotten hurt in training? Why else would he want to talk to Hermione alone? Yes, that must be it. Nigel wanted to go out and check on them, but Scrimgeour was too busy peppering him with anxious questions regarding the security of the newest band of hitwizards. The door opened again, and this time, a tear-stained, pale Hermione entered, followed by Arthur.

“Is everything OK?” Nigel asked. “Did something happen?”

Hermione burst into tears.

“My gods, Hermione!” Nigel exclaimed. “What is it? Is it Ron?”

She shook her head, her face buried in her shaking hands. Arthur stared blankly at Nigel, his eyes filled with regret. Something wasn’t right. Why weren’t they saying anything? What was going on?

Finally, Arthur spoke. His voice was grave, heavy with grief. Nigel didn’t know what to think.

“If you don’t mind, Minister, we need to adjourn for the present moment,” Arthur said. “Nigel, I need to speak to you.”

Nigel stood up nervously. “What? What is it? Did something happen?”

“Will you all excuse us?” Arthur said to everyone.

Alone after a couple of minutes of chattering and planning, Nigel found himself entirely alone with Arthur and Hermione. Suddenly, the office felt huge, almost obscenely so. Nigel wanted to run out, but the door seemed miles away.

“Have a seat,” Arthur said.

“No!” Nigel retorted. “Tell me what’s going on? Is it my parents? It’s my parents, isn’t it? Tell me…”

“It’s not your parents,” Arthur said. His voice shook slightly.

“What is…”

“Nigel, Lucy…”

“What? What about…”

“…was killed earlier today.”

No. That wasn’t right. She was away at school. She had nothing to do with any of this. Nigel suddenly found it nearly impossible to breathe.

“Don’t fuck with me, Arthur!” he snapped. “You know that isn’t true! She’s not even around here! She…”

Arthur placed his hands on Nigel’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I’m so sorry, Nigel.”

Nigel shook his head violently, refusing to believe it. “You’re wrong!” he protested. “You’re wrong, Arthur!” But he knew Arthur wasn’t wrong. A terrible horror filled Nigel’s mind, and he sank to his knees, shuddering now with heavy sobs. Hermione rushed to fling her arms around his neck. He leaned his head against hers and cried into her hair.

It took a long time for Nigel to get control of his emotions. _This is my fault,_ he kept telling himself. _She died because she knew me, because I loved her._ He wanted to die, to wake up from this terrible nightmare. He wanted to see Lucy again and prove that Arthur was a liar and a fraud. It couldn’t be any other way.


	19. Broken but not Beaten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The world seemed tedious to Nigel, unreal and useless. Lucy…his Lucy…was dead, and only because she was associated with him. He knew why. It was the statement he had made to the muggle press. This was a clear case of revenge. Fuck with us and we’ll fuck with you. The message was loud and clear. Why else would they target Lucy? Nigel found that he couldn’t stand up._

The world seemed tedious to Nigel, unreal and useless. Lucy…his Lucy…was dead, and only because she was associated with him. He knew why. It was the statement he had made to the muggle press. This was a clear case of revenge. _Fuck with us and we’ll fuck with you._ The message was loud and clear. Why else would they target Lucy?

Nigel found that he couldn’t stand up.

It was as if he were glued to the floor by some sticking charm, or paralysed by the _Petrificus Totalis_ charm. If it hadn’t been for Hermione leaning against him, Nigel might have collapsed altogether. His body ached with inconsolable grief. He furtively dried his face with the sleeve of his robes—Lucius’ robes—and tried to stand. Arthur helped him to his feet.

“I need to go,” Nigel said helplessly. “I need to go home. I…”

“We’ll take you,” Arthur said gently.

The scene at home was strange, foreign, as if he had stepped into someone else’s house. Nigel knew everyone there—Mum and Dad, Jimmy and Clive, Nadia, Paul, Draco, Severus, Remus, Blaise, Vincent, Minerva, Ron, Harry, Ginny, Molly, Fred and George, Dawlish, even Hagrid and Moody—yet it was as if the place had never existed before, that Nigel had separated himself from time and space and found himself in an entirely new environment. No one spoke as he entered his parents’ house, though the sounds of sniffling and weeping were unmistakable. Someone had closed all the curtains throughout the house. The scent of fresh tea wafted through the house.

Nigel hardly knew how to react or what to do. Should he cry? Shout? Make some stupid speech? He looked around at their troubled, sad faces and found himself at a complete loss for words. His heart limped in his chest.

Mrs. Chaucer rushed to him and put her arms around him. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry!”

Something primal happened in Nigel, something he hadn’t anticipated, yet feared all the same. It was different with Hermione, hunched over on the floor of his office. He could cry and pound the floor with his fist, but there was this desire to control himself there. Nigel could break away from that, stand apart from it to some extent. But standing in his home, wrapped in his mother’s arms, Nigel found it impossible to contain his grief and shock. Like a small child, Nigel dissolved into bitter tears as his mother held him close and safe. He was too grieved to feel embarrassed or unmanly or anything else.

Once Nigel managed to regain control of himself again, his mother walked him to the settee. She stroked his hair and kissed his cheek and tried to give him some tea. Nigel didn’t want any. All he wanted was answers. A teary-eyed Molly Weasley handed Nigel a handkerchief, which he gratefully took.

“What happened?” he demanded. “Who did this to her?”

“We’re still getting all the details, sir,” Dawlish said. “We know it happened between twelve and one this afternoon, in a café near Cambridge.”

“Was it Avada Kedavra?” Nigel asked.

“No, sir. Poison.”

“But that makes no sense!” Nigel cried. “I gave her the Shield Potion! She was taking it every day! I told her…” He paused. “Oh my gods. You mean to tell me…”

Dawlish’s face fell. “We found the bottle you gave her, and it was full.”

“Gods!” Snape muttered under his breath. “She never took an ounce of it?”

“No, Professor. The seal on the bottle was never broken, in fact. Two of our Healers are working with the Medical Examiner on the autopsy.”

Nigel wept anew. “That makes no sense! She shouldn’t have died from wizard poison! I told her to take it every day! I implored her! What was she thinking?”

No one could say a word.

“I have to see them,” Nigel said, trying to gain control of himself. He felt keenly aware of everyone looking at him, judging his every move. It was nearly too much to bear.

“Who do you have to see?” Mr. Chaucer asked.

“The Fairchilds, of course,” he replied.

“Oh no, honey, not today,” Mrs. Chaucer piped up. “It’s very late. See them in the morning.”

“She’s right, Nigel dear,” Molly said. “Give them a day before you go over there. Trust me, it’s the right thing to do. They’re likely inundated with relatives and family friends.”

“But this is my fault!” Nigel insisted angrily. “Can’t you all see that? She died because of me, because she was my girlfriend! I have to face them!”

“We know, sweetie, but face them later,” Nadia said, taking Nigel by the arm. She tried to lead him to sit down, but he resisted.

“Look, I know you’re all concerned for me, but I really need to do this!” he said. “How can I not? If I stop by one or two days later, that’s worse! I need to see them, talk to them and tell them how sorry I am! They have to know that!”

“I think they know that, honey,” Mrs. Chaucer said.

“But they don’t!” Nigel shouted. “Don’t you all get it? This had nothing to do with her! It had everything to do with me and that statement I made today! I’m accountable for this!”

“Nigel, you’ve got to calm down,” Mrs. Chaucer said.

Nigel jumped up, furious. “How can I calm down, dammit? My girlfriend was MURDERED! Do you hear me? She was MURDERED! I can’t fucking CALM DOWN!” Nigel fought back a powerful sob. He dried his eyes and took a deep breath. He hated himself just then—this was the first time he had ever spoken to his mother that way. Another thing for which to blame himself. “I’m sorry, Mum,” he said quietly. “I’m just so upset and I don’t know what to do and I…”

Mrs. Chaucer slipped her arm around his waist and led him back to the settee, then handed him a teacup. “Go on, Nigel, drink some. You’ll feel better.”

Nigel drank. Too many thoughts, clashing, horrid thoughts, raced through his mind. His last meeting with Lucy had been unexpectedly romantic, but this last year had been anything but peaceful with her. They had fought far more than they had been intimate, and even at the time of their last meeting, their chances of fully reconciling were tentative. And yet, her kiss had been so sweet, so magical and passionate. He had left Cambridge feeling on top of the world, filled with all sorts of new hopes about their future.

A future that was now destroyed.

* * * * *

The Fairchilds didn’t live too far from the Chaucers. Just around the corner and up a few blocks. Like the Chaucers’ house, theirs was a quaint Tudor cottage bordered by wildflowers and rich shrubbery up and down the stone path to the front door. Nigel stood before the house, dressed modestly in black trousers and a grey sweater, debating in his mind whether to go inside.

“Come on, be a man,” he whispered to himself. “Go in.”

He went, though every step felt like a mile.

The woman who answered the door was someone Nigel didn’t recognise. She was rather young, perhaps thirty-five or so, and quite pretty, with long, curly chestnut hair and brilliant green eyes. She smiled pleasantly at Nigel and stepped back to let him in.

“You must be Nigel Chaucer,” she said rather more brightly than Nigel would have expected.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me.” He stuck out his hand and shook hers.

“We’ve never met before,” she said. “I’m Clementine. I’m the witch aunt.”

“Oh! Goodness! It’s nice to meet you!” Nigel exclaimed. “Of course! Lucy told me all about you. Well, she sort of told me about you. She mentioned you quite a few times.”

Clementine smiled warmly. “She was good at being discreet. She talked about you all the time, of course. When I found out she was dating the great Nigel Chaucer, I wanted to know all the gory details about your relationship.”

Nigel couldn’t help but laugh. It felt good to remember the lighter things about Lucy rather than the terrible way she died. He wanted to remember her smile, her voice, her laugh, the smell of her skin, the taste of her lips. It felt good to talk to another witch about Lucy. In many ways, Clementine reminded Nigel of Lucy, though he wasn’t so sure he could explain it. Was it the laugh that seemed so disarmingly similar, or was it the twinkle in her eye that was so familiar?

They talked for a very long time, just the two of them standing there in the foyer of the house while the funeral party mourned glumly in the background. The occasional sound of weeping made Nigel’s heart skip a beat.

“Lucy told me you were in Slytherin,” Clementine said.

“It was a bit of a shock to me at first, to be honest,” Nigel replied. “But in time, I figured out why the Sorting Hat put me there. What house were you in?”

“Ravenclaw. My oldest son, Denny, is in Ravenclaw right now.”

“Really? That’s great! What year is he?”

“First. He’s a little overwhelmed, but he’s going to be just fine. Actually, everything you did last year has made life so much better for all the students. I have another little guy who will start at Hogwarts next year.”

Nigel laughed. “Another Ravenclaw?”

“Well, I hope so. I guess you never know.” She touched his arm. “Lucy spoke so well of you all the time. She loved you so much.”

Nigel didn’t know what do say. The last thing he wanted was to burst into tears in front of a total stranger, especially in front of a female stranger. He nodded and turned away.

Soon, Mrs. Fairchild sauntered down the stairs, her entire countenance weighed down by heavy grief. And yet, when she saw Nigel, she beamed.

“Oh Nigel!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad you came, dear! Lucy was just talking about you that day. Oh, she was so proud of you, dear!” She dissolved into tears. As he held Lucy’s broken-hearted mother in his arms, all he could do was hate himself all the more, blame himself more bitterly for what had happened.

But this tender, uncomfortable moment was broken sharply by a bellowing male voice in the distance—Lucy’s father.

“YOU!” he shouted at Nigel. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU FREAK! YOU KILLED MY DAUGHTER!”

“Oh Freddy, be reasonable,” Mrs. Fairchild snapped at him.

But Lucy’s father would not be disabused. Nigel stepped back, not wanting a serious confrontation with him.

Mr. Fairchild grabbed Nigel by the lapels and pulled him close, hard and jarring. “Listen to me, you fucker,” he growled, “if you ever come near my family again, I’ll kill you. Do you hear me? DO YOU HEAR ME?”

“Freddy!” Mrs. Fairchild exclaimed.

“Stay out of this, Clarissa!” he bellowed at her.

“Sir, I…” Nigel started.

But then, Mr. Fairchild shoved Nigel hard, causing him to stumble back, nearly falling down.

“Get out,” he growled.

“I only came here to pay my respects,” Nigel insisted.

“Fine. You’ve done that. Get out,” he replied. “And if I see you at the funeral, or if I see you ever again, I’ll kill you. YOU HEAR THAT? I’LL KILL YOU!”

“Sir, if you’ll please listen to me…”

In a fury, Mr. Fairchild grabbed Nigel roughly by the lapels and slammed him hard into the wall, causing the coat rack in the corner to topple over. Clementine rushed to put it right. Before he draw his fist back to smash Nigel in the face, Mr. Boyd and a bald, older man rushed to the rescue, pulling the grieving father off a trembling Nigel.

“Stop this, Freddy!” Mr. Boyd bellowed, doing his best to restrain Mr. Fairchild. “Nigel, I think you’d better go now before this gets out of hand.”

Beside himself with more grief and more worry, Nigel ran out of the house, down the front path, down the street and straight back to his own house, where inside, he dashed up to his room and slammed the door shut. Nigel paced up and down the room, shaking hard as he laboured to regain control of himself. But he found that he couldn’t blame Mr. Fairchild for lashing out. Many fathers would have done the same thing, Nigel reckoned. He sat down on his bed, then in a chair, then on the floor, then back on his bed again. Nothing was comfortable any more. Nothing brought him peace. He vowed to stand in the back pew at the funeral service so Mr. Fairchild wouldn’t spot him. Yes, that would do just fine. At least he would be able to attend and try and say good bye to Lucy.

So when Mrs. Fairchild called an hour later, Nigel was dumbfounded. He heard the telephone ring downstairs, and he heard his mother answer it. Nigel had no idea who it was on the other end, nor did he care.

“Nigel!” Mrs. Chaucer called from the front hall. “I need to talk to you!”

Downstairs, Nigel sat with his mother at the kitchen table. She poured him some tea. Nigel knew it couldn’t be good news—these days, the only time his mother made him tea was when something bad had happened.

“Mrs. Fairchild telephoned just now, honey,” she said.

“I suppose she told you her husband attacked me,” Nigel replied glumly.

Mrs. Chaucer raised her eyebrows in alarm. “She did not! Nigel, is that true?”

Nigel nodded. “It’s okay, Mum. He didn’t hurt me.”

“Dear gods,” she exclaimed. “I had no idea! I would have gone with you had I known that!”

“Mum, I’m an adult! I can handle one angry muggle! So what did Mrs. Fairchild want?” He sipped his tea and ate a biscuit.

She sighed. _Here it comes_ Nigel thought to himself. “Well, it was about the funeral.”

“What about the funeral?”

“She said…oh dear…she said that…you won’t be permitted to attend.”

“WHAT?” Nigel bellowed. “That’s not fair! I have every right to attend!”

“She’s worried about her husband. He’s taken this very hard, and the family wants some peace.”

Nigel opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. His mind suddenly stopped and all he could do was sit there, as if paralysed all over again. Mrs. Chaucer kissed his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said softly.

“Me, too,” he replied dully. Nigel stood up. “I need to get out of here for a while,” he said abruptly.

“That’s a good idea. Take a nice long walk where you can think and work through all this grief and confusion.”

Nigel nodded. “Look, Mum, I’m sorry I’ve been such a bear.”

“Nigel, you have nothing to be sorry for. If this were your father, I’d be feeling the same way as you.”

“I might not be back for a while, OK? I mean, I might not be back for a couple of days.”

“Goodness! Where are you going?”

“I have no idea.”

* * * * *

Under the wide open sky, Nigel stood by the shore of a small lake, looking back toward a thick grove of tall trees. The late morning air felt warm and soft on his face. The small breeze whistled playfully in his ears.

He had no idea where he was, though he suspected he was far from home. When he apparated, he didn’t have any particular place in mind, except that he somehow wanted to be near a grove.

And so he was.

Nigel stepped away from the water, heading into the shadows of the grove, walking at a steady, furious gait. It didn’t matter that he could hear the growls of wild animals or that there was not a single shred of civilisation anywhere to be found. Should anything happen to him out there, no one would know. Nigel didn’t care. All he wanted was…he wasn’t sure, actually. He wanted peace and revenge and justice and revenge and community and revenge…he wanted Lucy. He wanted to see her one more time, telling a silly joke or telling him all about the latest novel she was reading or telling him anything—he wouldn’t even have minded arguing with her, just so long as she was alive and there and in his life somehow. His heart ached.

The more he thought about it, the more upset and angry and grieved Nigel became. His breathing grew heavier and harder and faster, and furious tears blinded his eyes. Hatred and violence and sadness and pain raged through his body, threatening to send Nigel out of his mind. He stopped in his tracks, shut his eyes, took a deep breath and shrieked as loud and strong and deep as he could, desperate to expel the venom from his system. Birds flew up and away at the terrible sound. Nigel did it again, louder and harder this time, thrusting his hands outward and up. 

To his shock and horror, two massive trees were torn from the ground and hurtled violently through the air, smashing to the ground in splinters. The wind seemed to flow through him, giving energy and force to his whole being. Nigel gathered its strength inward to himself and waved his arm in an arc—another tree was ripped from its roots, hurtling far away. He slashed the air, hewing down three more trees midway up their trunks. Nigel walked with intense concentration back toward the water, not really knowing what he would do or why. All he wanted was to let out that gathering, violent storm within him. He thrust both his hands upward sharply, sending the entire contents of the small lake high in the quiet air. He held it suspended like that for a full minute, and then, with a clap of his hands, sent the water spraying like a hurricane in all directions, not knowing how or when or where it would all land.

And then, his entire body quaking and drained, his mind reeling, Nigel collapsed to his knees and broke down completely, pounding his fist on the wet, long grass under him. He cried for Lucy from the depths of his heart, with every fibre of his body, until nothing was left and all he could do was curl up and fall into a dreamless sleep…

…He had no idea how long he was asleep there in the field by the destroyed grove. Nigel rubbed his eyes and slowly sat up. He looked about, shocked by what he saw before him. It seemed impossible that he had brought about such destruction, and yet, Nigel knew that no one else could have done such things. Trees lay about, torn up and shattered. The lake, once so peaceful, now swelled with choppy waves. All was deadly silent, eerily still, except for the rushing of the waters in the near distance. Nigel trembled.

“My gods,” he whispered. “What have I done?”

He knew instinctively that there was no repairing the damage he had caused. Nigel looked closely at his hands, wondering at the power that emitted from them. His mind boggled, and he found himself slightly afraid of his own potential. But that was mad. He couldn’t be afraid of himself. That was stupid. No, the answer lay elsewhere. It suddenly occurred to Nigel that, in a sense, he had spent his last few months wasting his powers. There were so many things he could do and yet, he hadn’t. That old muggle mindset lingered, to his frustration.

Now, everything was different.

Nigel sensed a change within himself, a new lust to discover just how far his powers could take him. He looked closely at his hands, his palms, the whorls of his fingertips, wondering and pondering and starting to see things in a new light. They were the same hands, with the same freckle on his right palm and the same scar on his left thumb—but they had changed somehow. Nigel knew for a very long time that he was capable of intense wandless magic, but he had always striven to suppress it, for a reason he couldn’t quite articulate.

But these were drastic times, terrible times. These were not days for him to hold back any longer. Lucy was dead, but so were others. Nigel knew that if he didn’t do something decisive soon, untold disaster would result, and before long, the situation would become unmanageable.

He had a plan.


	20. Nigel's Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of answers or solutions, Nigel can only think of one thing to do...go on a quest to discover the deepest aspects of magic and then, hope for a way out of this crisis.

“Are you sure about this, Chaucer?”

“I think so, Minister.”

“Do you really think it will take you six months? Can’t you be back sooner?”

“I hope so. I really do. I want to get this done. I just need time to learn everything I can.”

The Minister stood up and walked around his desk to shake Nigel’s hand. “You know how much I esteem you, Nigel.”

“I know.”

“You know, I worried about you after poor Lucy…well…I thought you might quit your post here. We all did. I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I thought about it, too. I thought about it a lot. I was very close to quitting, actually. I suppose you all though I’d gone mad.”

Scrimgeour sighed heavily. “This has been a terrible time for you, son. I’m very sorry about all this.”

Nigel nodded. “I am, too.”

“Where will you go?”

“I’m not quite sure. I want to visit the man who made my wand first, and from there, I’ll go by instinct.”

Scrimgeour didn’t sound convinced. “I’m worried about this whole enterprise. It sounds very dodgy to me. Are you sure about this?”

“I’m entirely sure. If I don’t do this, then I don’t know what to do.”

Snape expressed similar doubts. Nigel visited his cousin that evening after a lonely supper at Malfoy Manor—Draco was off with some new girl he had recently met at a Weird Sisters concert. After the House Elf had cleared the dishes from the long dining table, Nigel apparated to the Three Broomsticks, where he met Snape and Lupin in a dark corner table. The three wizards sat for a long time chatting about trivial things—Lupin complained about the parent of one of his first year students who feared that the little girl might get injured by Lupin in his werewolf form.

“Rubbish,” Snape said disdainfully. “You haven’t transformed in over four months, Lupin. Have you?”

“No! Your improved wolfsbane potion has been a godsend to me,” Lupin replied. “I haven’t felt this good in years.”

“You look great, Remus,” Nigel said.

“You look terrible,” Lupin replied.

“I know,” Nigel said mournfully. “It’s been a rough time.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Snape mumbled with disdain. “So the muggles said no to the funeral?”

Nigel took a long drink from his glass and said nothing. His hands shook slightly. He wanted to cry all over again, but he caught himself. Everything was too raw, too horrible, far too confusing. Nigel sighed heavily and drank again.

“Anyway,” Lupin said, trying to lighten the very uncomfortable mood, “tell us more about this trip you’ve planned, Nigel.”

“It’s sort of an exploratory mission,” Nigel replied. “My goal is to develop my magic so that I can bring this whole Taylor crisis to a rapid end.”

“That sounds very ambitious,” Lupin remarked.

“Nigel,” Snape said, “This whole thing sounds very dangerous.”

“Do you doubt my abilities?” Nigel asked.

“Don’t be thick, Chaucer. My concern is somewhat more realistic.”

“Realistic?” Nigel raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“I just don’t want your anger to cloud your judgement. I’d hate for you to do something stupid or, gods forbid, illegal.”

“He has a point, Nigel,” Lupin said.

Nigel rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I’m not going to let that happen!”

“Oh really? Are you so above basic human emotion as to be immune to thoughts of revenge?”

“That’s not what I mean, Severus!” Nigel snapped.

“So you have no thoughts of revenge?” Snape insisted.

“That’s not the point!”

“Then enlighten me, Nigel! What do you think you’re going to accomplish by delving into this sort of stuff?”

“It’s not anything dark! Why do you assume I’m getting into dark magic?”

“Because your girlfriend was horribly murdered and you’re bloody outraged over it, as you should be.”

“Fuck you, Severus,” Nigel sniped.

“Hey! Fuck you!” Snape retorted impatiently. “Listen up, you prat! You might think you’re out to find some clever way of getting rid of Taylor, but you are taking a serious risk by dealing with these shady figures!”

“The wand maker is YOUR friend!” Nigel retorted.

“Can we all calm down?” Lupin asked harshly, noting several curious eyes on the trio.

“How long will this take?” Snape asked, his voice barely masking his rage and worry.

“I don’t know, Severus. Three months, maybe six.”

“What will come of it?” Lupin asked. “What do you expect from this?”

“A way out of this mess,” Nigel said. “A spell perhaps. A potion, something that will put a stop to this madness.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Snape asked.

“This is something I need to do myself, Severus. But thanks all the same.”

* * * * *

Wrapped warm in his flowing black traveling cloak, Nigel walked slowly across the chilly open plain, his boots crunching on the icy grass beneath his feet. The new morning air was brisk against his bare skin, making him wish he had worn his old Slytherin scarf to keep out the cold. No matter now. He was almost there. Nigel could see the little ramshackle hut in the near distance. Puffs of white smoke rose out of the crooked chimney, and Nigel could just make out the outline of a person inside, behind the white lace curtains.

As he approached closer, Nigel could smell…baking bread. His step quickened. Before he could raise his hand to knock at the rough wooden door, it creaked open mysteriously on its rusty hinges. The scent of fresh bread intensified.

“Come in, Mr. Chaucer,” the man’s voice called out.

Nigel pushed the door all the way open and cautiously stepped inside the dimly lit hut. The man inside was the same as Nigel had remembered—very old, white-haired, rather feeble and frail and yet, intense and passionate. He looked at Nigel with a warm look of recognition and waved for him to come in and sit down. Nigel shut the door with a dusty thud and took a seat near the pot-bellied stove. He looked around for signs of wandmaking, but could see nothing. Nigel wondered at that.

“Here, have some tea,” the man said, pouring out fresh hot tea into a tin mug. “Sugar? Milk?”

Nigel shook his head. “No. This is great, Mr. Veneficus. And thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I really appreciate it.”

Mr. Veneficus sat down opposite Nigel and looked into his eyes. Nigel knew he was using Legilimency on him, but didn’t prevent him. “What do you see?” he asked.

“Desperation,” Mr. Veneficus replied. “A need to find solutions. A lust to increase your magical potential.”

“You’re as perceptive as I remember.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, then. I can’t offer you anything.”

Nigel set his cup on the windowsill and sat forward. “I think you can, sir. You were the one who made my wand, and I know that there are things you can teach me that I can use in my current situation.”

“You mean the Taylor crisis. Taylor is a second rate wizard, you know.”

“But he’s a first rate criminal, either way.”

“Then perhaps you don’t need a magical solution to your problem. Perhaps this is more about what you can do as a person, as a man, not merely as a wizard.”

“But I won’t know that until I reach my potential as a wizard,” Nigel insisted. “That’s a part of who I am, as a man and as a person.”

Mr. Veneficus nodded sympathetically. “Severus tells me you are a first-rate potions master, Mr. Chaucer.”

Nigel blushed. “I pass for one.”

“You are in tune with the forces of nature,” he said. “You have an innate ability to know how the elements mix, and how they will impact the person who takes them. I have read and heard of your accomplishments in the Ministry, and I am quite impressed. What more could you possibly want?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Nigel said. “As I indicated in my owl post to you, I want to act from knowledge, not just instinct. Does that make sense?”

“It does. Well, then, I suppose I can tell you a few things.” He stood up and hobbled toward the door. “I’ve thought about this a bit since I heard from you, and I think I know what I want you to do. Come with me.”

Nigel followed him outside, down the path and back to the centre of the plain. The grass glittered under the moonlight. Nigel breathed deeply as they stood there, looking upward to the stars in the black night sky. Mr. Veneficus lifted his hand, spreading out his fingers as wide as he could. He blinked. The next thing Nigel knew, an intense glow emerged from the old man’s hand, rising upward and spreading out so that the light surrounded them both. The ice under their feet melted, yet that outside the circle of light remained unaffected.

“That’s amazing,” Nigel breathed.

“You do it.”

“Me?”

“You.”

“I don’t know the incantation.”

“Do you always use incantations?”

Nigel thought, remembering the destruction he had caused only the other day. “No, I suppose not.”

“Wizards like you can often influence the elements by pure emotion, correct?”

“Yeah, I suppose. Sure.”

“Severus tells me you do that quite often. What you must learn is to exert the same power in a controlled way. Are you ready to explore this ability?”

Nigel nodded eagerly.

Mr. Veneficus grinned, revealing his uneven, yellowed teeth. “Then you will remain out here by yourself until you can make this entire field melt and produce white flowers, without resorting to any emotion at all.”

Nigel laughed, that is, until he realised Mr. Veneficus wasn’t joking. “White flowers?”

“That’s right. Good night.” And with that, Mr. Veneficus trudged slowly back toward his hut. He stopped. “I’ll be watching you from my window, so I shall know if you are cheating.”

Stunned and bewildered, Nigel stood in the sloppy cold grass, wondering how he would do this without resorting to an emotional outburst.

It wasn’t so easy.

After two hours of fruitless labour, Nigel slashed the air with his arms, creating a near firestorm across the entire field. In an instant, Mr. Veneficus not only stopped the flames but restored the field to its grassy, icy state. Nigel mourned. It seemed as though everything he had learned over the last two years had been a sheer waste.

He tried everything he knew to connect to the energy of the air, the cold, the water beneath him, the grass and mud and wind. Nothing. No feeling at all. He knew he was trying too hard, so he tried to calm down and shut off his emotions, but that was nearly impossible. Thoughts of throttling Geoffrey Taylor and Harold Quinn dominated his mind, displaced only by remembrances of his more intimate moments with Lucy. A surge of anguish arose in his heart, but Nigel fought it back, as painful as it was.

“Lucy,” he whispered. “Lucy. Lucy. Lucy.” Nigel sank to his knees and wept anew, not caring that he was freezing cold and wet and exhausted from his efforts. Nigel jumped at the feeling of something on his shoulder, until he realised that it was Mr. Veneficus placing a comforting hand on his back.

“It’s time to come inside now,” he said. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Nigel felt like a complete failure as he allowed himself to be escorted back to the hut by the little old man. To Nigel’s surprise and shame, Mr. Veneficus bundled Nigel up in a wool blanket and put him to bed. Nigel couldn’t help but feel like he was six years old again. On the one hand, he appreciated the gesture—the blanket was warm and the bed incredibly comfortable. Still, he couldn’t help but feel weak and ineffectual and pathetic.

When Nigel awoke the next morning, his body was on fire with intense pain. His old enemy, the icy cold weather, ravaged his joints and muscles, a condition he had suffered from since his accident two and a half years ago. Getting out of bed was sheer torture that morning, and in fact, proved too much for him. Nigel lay in bed until the pot-bellied stove had heated the hut enough to warm the air throughout. Still, getting up was a struggle, one that nearly defeated Nigel.

He hobbled to the stove and sat down next to it, desperate to warm himself and lessen the pains that tore through him. Nigel hadn’t felt these pains in a while, and every pang and ache reminded him of his long months in hospital, where he had lain battered and broken and near death for such a long time. But this was now, and his life had changed entirely. Nigel struggled to keep himself in the present.

“Here you go,” Mr. Veneficus said, bringing a bowl of hot oatmeal to Nigel. “This will do wonders for you, son.”

He was right. Nigel wasn’t much of a fan of oatmeal, but this was the most extraordinary breakfast he had ever eaten. As he tore through it, he began to wonder if there was some strange, magical ingredient in it that gave it extra flavour and…something Nigel couldn’t identify.

“What’s your secret to this stuff?” he asked.

“It’s just oatmeal and milk. Nothing special.”

“No pixie dust or anything?”

Mr. Veneficus chuckled. “Nope. Just warmth and a little love.” He watched intently as Nigel finished the rest of his oatmeal and set the bowl aside. “Feel better?”

“Yeah. I feel good. I should eat this every day.”

“Tell me about your accident.”

“What? Why do you want to know about that?” Nigel didn’t like talking about his accident, even after two years—the memories were still too harrowing, and he strove not to think of it at all if he could avoid it. He thought he was done talking about it to his parents, his doctors, his family, his friends. What could this stranger want to know?

“Everything.”

Nigel sighed. “Well, it happened in May of 1996. I was run down by a lorry and left to die. Just about every bone in my body was broken, and I went through countless surgeries and therapy to get better.”

“You can do better.”

“What? What do you want to know?” Nigel said, now a little irritated.

“Tell me about your anger.”

“My anger?”

“At the lorry driver.”

That was a touchy subject with Nigel. For a long time he had preferred not to think about the lorry driver who had left him for dead in the middle of the street. The last thing he wanted to do was dredge all that pain and anger up again.

“Why do you need to know this?” he asked.

“You need to purge it from your system in order to free your magic.”

Nigel sighed. He hated talking about his accident. He remembered it all too keenly, especially each May when that ugly anniversary intruded on his peace of mind.

“We never caught him,” he said bitterly. “There were vague reports of a white lorry, but nothing absolute. The bastard got away with it. I doubt he even knew he had even hit me or…” Nigel caught himself.

“Yes?”

“Or caused me such pain.” Nigel’s voice trembled uncomfortably. _Here we go_ , he thought. “I felt cheated. I still do.”

“Do you resent what happened?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Even though you’re now a wizard?”

Nigel hesitated. “I gave up my life for this, so yeah, I have some resentments still. All my plans I had are rubbish now. And my body has never felt the same, as you can see. My body looks like a bloody road map from all the scars from surgery…look, why is this important?”

“You want to increase your powers, do you not?”

“Of course! Why shouldn’t I? I didn’t ask to become a wizard, but since I am, I want to make the most of it, especially since I seem to have acquired such extreme powers somehow. That’s why I’m here to see you.” He didn’t mean to sound so rude, but his patience was running thin. Nigel had already been to therapy after his accident and didn’t want to go through that again. Yet Mr. Veneficus seemed to insist.

“Your magic will stay stagnant as long as you have these very real emotional issues. Like I said, you need to purge it from your…”

“I get it, I get it,” Nigel said. “I’m sorry. I’m a real bear today. I’m not usually like this. I’m acting more like Severus than myself. I apologise to you, sir, honestly.”

Mr. Veneficus chuckled. “Severus told me a lot about you. He said you’re a bit mulish, but that you have a brilliant mind, tremendous abilities.”

Nigel snorted, then wondered exactly when Severus talked to the old man about him. “Mulish? That must be a family trait,” Nigel quipped. “Severus is about as mulish as they come.”

They both laughed. 

“How did you meet Severus?” Nigel asked.

“Oh, we go back quite a ways. I was the one who made his wand when he was just eleven years old. Eileen, his mother, brought him to me.”

“How well did you know her?”

“Not at all, actually. I had no idea how she had heard of me, and she didn’t offer an explanation. She simply told me that her son was very special and thus needed a very special wand. It was a great joy to make it for him, you know. I saw right away that he truly was a unique individual.”

“You knew he was a Death Eater later on, right?”

“I predicted it, actually. I could see it in his eyes the first time I saw him.”

“You used Legilimency on him?” Nigel asked, drinking some tea.

“I use Legilimency all the time.”

“On me? Right now?” Nigel asked suspiciously.

“You’re using Occlumency very effectively right now, I must say.” Mr. Veneficus inclined his head slightly toward Nigel, who grinned. “I was never a major figure in Severus’ life, though we shared a few significant moments.”

“Moments?”

“He found that I was one of the few people he could actually open himself to, for whatever reason he had. There are many things we discussed that I shall never share with anyone. I would never betray that trust. I hold the same for you, Mr. Chaucer.”

Nigel flushed. “Oh, I wasn’t trying to pry or anything. Sorry if you thought I was.”

Mr. Veneficus stood up and chuckled. “I know you weren’t. It is natural to be curious, though. There’s no shame in that. Now then, if you’re all fed and watered, I have a little task for you today that I think you will find very helpful. Come with me.”

He led Nigel out the back door of the hut. The first thing Nigel spotted was a large pile of firewood, stacked neatly near the hut in precise rows. Next to the firewood lay the rather large trunk of a felled tree. Mr. Veneficus handed Nigel a heavy axe.

“I want you to chop up this trunk into pieces of firewood for me,” he said plainly. “Oh yes, without magic.”

This seemed strange and uncalled for to Nigel. After all, he had sought out the wandmaker for wisdom, not to do odd jobs. “Uh, why?”

“I want you to see this log as everyone you hate—Geoffrey Taylor, Heroditus Q, Lucy’s killer, the lorry driver, anyone who ever caused you pain and anguish. Go on. It’ll be good for you. I bring you tea in a couple of hours.”

With that, he shuffled back inside the warm hut, leaving a very confused and disappointed Nigel holding an axe he didn’t know how to wield. He sighed in frustration, then approached the log, as if it really were an enemy. Where to start? In the centre? That sounded most logical, so, with a firm grip on the handle, Nigel lifted the axe and swung it down, hard.

The first chop was a disaster. Nigel managed to turn the axe slightly in the wrong direction, so that when it came down, the only thing he managed to do was cause a loud clang.

“Dammit!” he exclaimed. 

He gripped the axe tighter and tried again, this time more successful. The blade dug into the log rather deeply. Nigel thought of the lorry driver. He chopped again, three more times, digging more deeply into the thick wood, until finally, the axe made it through the entire log. That felt good—the old man was right about this. The next series of cuts were reserved for Geoffrey Taylor, for Lucy’s killer, for all the pain and suffering of the last few months. He chopped and chopped, faster and faster until before he knew it, he was done. Nigel felt thoroughly exhausted, entirely spent physically and emotionally. He sat down on the icy earth and wiped his brow, feeling drained. All he wanted to do at this point was to go to bed and sleep for the next few days.

But Mr. Veneficus wasn’t about to let that happen. At dinner that night, he put the question to Nigel directly.

“Did you do it?” he asked. “Did you purge the ghosts from your past?”

“I hope so, sir,” Nigel said. “It felt so weird, so…violent. I didn’t like myself whilst I was doing that.”

“That’s understandable, Mr. Chaucer. You’re not inherently a violent person. I can see that right away. But tell me this. Do you feel lighter?”

Nigel thought about that for a moment. “I feel…kind of raw, actually. I feel like I’ve just screamed and bellowed and torn out my heart, if you want to know the truth. So I suppose you’re sending me back into that field tonight, right?”

“Not quite yet.” Mr. Veneficus lit his pipe and handed it to Nigel. “Go on, have a puff. Don’t worry, it’s just regular pipe tobacco.”

Nigel took a puff and coughed. The smoke tasted pungent and sweet—he didn’t like it at all. “My grandfather smokes a pipe,” he said. “I always liked the smell of it, but I never tried it before. No offence, but I don’t think I’ll be trying it again.”

Mr. Veneficus laughed. They sat for a while, just watching the snow fall outside and listening to the wind in the trees. Finally, after the pipe went out, Mr. Veneficus spoke again.

“What do you feel in the air?” he asked quietly.

“Besides the cold?” Nigel asked.

“Shut your eyes,” he said, shutting his own. “Just sit still and take in the air.”

Nigel shut his eyes and opened his hands, palms upward, absorbing the crisp night into his body. He remembered what Snape had told him before about visualising his power and being able to manipulate it from within. Nigel imagined fire and heat within himself, battling against the cold. He allowed this inner fire spread throughout him, warming his blood, his muscles and bones, allowing him to breathe slow and easy, in spite of the icy air.

As he sat there, eyes serenely shut, in the chilly little hut out on that barren plain, Nigel came to an important realisation—the cold outside wasn’t his true enemy, nor was he helpless against it. The cold, the heat, the snow and rain were fellow residents of the earth, beings and forces over which Nigel could exert a tremendous influence. He suddenly knew what he could really do as a wizard. It was the most exciting moment of his life.


	21. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nigel walked alone up the drive of Malfoy Manor, drinking in the power of the early evening air as he felt his heart expand and his nerves prickle with excitement. It felt good to be home. The trees cast lovely, dramatic shadows against the stone path as Nigel crunched along toward the front door. He wondered if Draco would be home. Nigel hoped not._

Six full months—plus a few days—had passed since Nigel went away on his quest. Nigel had written to exactly no one, saw no one he knew, let no one know where he was or how he was doing. He had traveled to secret places, met with individuals known only to a select few in the wizarding world, sitting at their feet to learn the deepest elements of magic.

Mr. Veneficus’ hut was only a first stop. After Nigel had successfully melted the icy field and produced the biggest white flowers the old man had ever seen, Nigel then moved on. He visited a colleague and friend of Mr. Veneficus, a witch called Jade, who lived on Manhattan’s Upper East Side in an immaculate, extremely posh penthouse overlooking all of New York City. She wore expensive designer muggle clothes, smoked unfiltered cigarettes nonstop, drank vodka martinis at all times of the day, though she amazingly never got drunk, and she taught Nigel some of the more nuanced aspects of potion making.

It was a lesson that Nigel would never forget.

Jade worked in the muggle world, as a restaurateur for an upscale vegan restaurant and nightclub called _Yellow_ —all the top celebrities frequented the place every night of the week, making Jade and her business partner, her muggle husband, very wealthy. On the side, unknown to any of her muggle colleagues except her husband, Jade had become one of the foremost potions masters in the wizarding world, using her knowledge of cookery, chemistry and alchemy to perfect her creations. She was consulted by witches and wizards worldwide, including by the U.S. Department of Magic and the British Ministry of Magic. Jade routinely gave lectures at magical institutes around the world, and wrote countless essays on all aspects of potion making.

In Jade’s expensive, tiled kitchen, she whipped up what Nigel initially thought was a meringue—but when he tasted it, he soon forgot about the delicious flavour and noticed that his hair suddenly started to grow at an alarming rate, and to change from dark brown to yellow to purple to pink, then back to brown. She laughed, and with a flick of her wand, Nigel’s hair was back to normal.

She was amazing, vivacious, clever, witty. Nigel feared that as she gave him so much information, he might lose the bulk of it—until he remembered something. He took a small glass phial, put his wand to his temple and pulled out the familiar silver strands of memory, which he carefully placed inside the phial and corked tightly.

“In case I forget all this,” he explained. Jade kissed him on the cheek.

Nigel’s next stop was a little village in the South of France, where he met a homeless man called Roger. Roger was someone who apparently elected to be homeless—he explained to a bewildered Nigel that his status as a very powerful wizard made it impossible to live in a conventional life. To Nigel’s amazement, Roger was absolutely immaculate, completely unlike any other homeless person he had ever encountered. On top of that, Roger smelled like cinnamon, something that intrigued Nigel intensely.

“Aren’t there any wizard towns in France? We have Hogsmeade in England. Have you heard of it?” Nigel asked in French. He hadn’t used his French at all since he was at muggle school, and struggled a bit to understand everything Roger said to him. Roger spoke very quickly.

“I been there once. Once was enough.” Roger replied. “I HATE living around wizards! They’re far too superstitious for me. Damn bunch of freaks, the lot of them!”

Nigel didn’t laugh. “How can you say that about your own people?” he asked. “Muggles are just as superstitious.”

“Bullshit. Muggles may have their quirks, but they’re far more normal than wizards. Come on! Can you seriously say that the majority of witches and wizards are well-balanced, normal people?”

“Can you say that about anyone?” Nigel retorted. “We’re all freaks in some way, aren’t we?”

“I am the most normal person I know,” Roger declared. Nigel could tell that he was being completely serious.

Therefore, Nigel decided not to argue. “Jade tells me you’re the man to speak to about Charms. She says you’re the best Charms authority she knows.”

“Did she? Well, Jade is no fool,” Roger said proudly. “She knows talent when she sees it.”

Learning Charms from Roger as they sat by the riverside outside Marseilles was a truly odd experience for Nigel. He managed to keep up, though they spoke entirely in French, but Nigel quickly realised that he was entirely out of his element with Roger, who truly was spectacular when it came to Charms. He could produce the most intricate forms from thin air, make them perform astounding feats, then vanish in a sparkle of light.

“You learned all this at Beauxbatons?” Nigel asked, amazed.

Roger snorted. “Beauxbatons was rubbish. I went to Durmstrang. They’re known for the Dark Arts, but they are truly gifted in Charms instruction. That’s the big secret about Durmstrang. They keep their dark reputation to keep out undesirables.”

“How would they view me?” Nigel asked offhandedly, not expecting a response. He wasn’t so sure he liked Roger any more.

“They would have taken you in a half second,” Roger replied. “Only a fool would turn down talent like yours.”

Under Roger’s tutelage, Nigel learned not specific Charms themselves, but the deeper theory behind Charms, most specifically what elements of the universe govern and propel the use of Charms. Nigel found all this incredibly fascinating and edifying. While sleeping out of doors and having to use French public bathrooms proved to be a challenge to Nigel’s resolve, he put up with the rather rustic conditions for the sheer thrill of delving farther into magic than he had ever done before, even with Snape.

By the time he left Roger and moved on to meet with a coven in Brazil, Nigel could no longer identify himself with who he had been before. The change in him was so pronounced by then, yet so natural and easy, and all he could wonder was why he’d had to wait so long to find his true self.

* * * * *

Nigel didn’t return home until early May. His final stop before the quick journey back to Malfoy Manor was to Hogwarts, to visit Snape. This was no ordinary visit, however. Nigel needed the last piece of the magical puzzle he had so carefully constructed over the last six months—he needed to learn the art of _gravitas ___—more than Potions, this was Snape’s greatest art form.

“Why ask me about that?” Snape asked him suspiciously as they walked along the far shores of the lake. In the distance, the Giant Squid was causing the waters to churn as it closed in on some poor victim. “It’s not as if I’m in the Ministry of Magic, unlike yourself.”

“Maybe not,” Nigel replied, “but you are an expert in _gravitas_. I mean, look at how you lived all those years when you were playing double agent. Every move you made had to be totally calculated and extraordinarily serious, down to the very way you buttoned your robes. If that’s not _gravitas_ , then I don’t know what is.”

“ _Gravitas_ is much more complicated than that, Chaucer,” he said darkly. “It’s a lie, you know, the whole damn business. It’s a way of comporting yourself that makes you seem very serious and deep, regardless of the reality. It allows people to think you are grand and knowledgeable and very wise, giving you an edge of control over the situation. I don’t know if an eighteen year-old is mature enough to get away with it.”

“I’m almost nineteen!” Nigel protested.

“That is neither here nor there. _Gravitas_ isn’t about a numerical age, but rather, emerges from years of experience of putting up with the bullshit of political hacks and fools and still managing to force those in power to take you seriously. You had about five or six stellar months in the Ministry, but since then, you’ve been entirely away.”

“For a larger purpose, Severus. After Lucy died, I found myself unable to do anything. My emotions and my anger were getting in the way of what I wanted to accomplish for the wizarding world. I didn’t know who I was.”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve become a Stoic, Nigel,” Snape said dryly. “I’d have to hex you painfully. I hate Stoics.”

“I’m not a Stoic, Severus, believe me. But I’ve grown up a lot these last few months. You know who I thought about a lot these last several months?”

“I’m breathless with anticipation,” Snape replied sarcastically.

“Professor Dumbledore. Now there was a man who knew all about _gravitas_.”

“You don’t possibly think you can take Dumbledore’s place?”

“No more than I could take your place,” Nigel replied simply.

Snape paused. He grinned for a quick moment and nodded his head, then looked at Nigel up and down. “My gods how you’ve changed. I didn’t see it until just now. It’s almost as if you were another person. Perhaps you are ready for _gravitas_ after all.”

Nigel looked a bit shocked, wondering what Snape could have meant by that sudden comment.

“Let’s return to my office, and I’ll tell you whatever you need to know,” Snape said.

* * * * *

Nigel walked alone up the drive of Malfoy Manor, drinking in the power of the early evening air as he felt his heart expand and his nerves prickle with excitement. It felt good to be home. The trees cast lovely, dramatic shadows against the stone path as Nigel crunched along toward the front door. He wondered if Draco would be home. Nigel hoped not. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t long to see his friend, because he did—very much so. He wanted to tell Draco all about his travels and about everything he learned. On the other hand, he sincerely hoped that Draco was out with friends or girlfriends or with someone. Nigel worried about Draco these days, fearing that he was feeling the strain of having two parents imprisoned in Azkaban. It was a touchy subject, one that Nigel felt reluctant to approach with Draco. He knew that Draco was truly suffering from the loss of his parents, but on the other hand, Nigel never felt quite sure how to ask him about it. All he knew now was that he hoped Draco had been able to find some sort of activity or diversion to keep him busy and interested in the world. It was hard to tell.

Draco wasn’t home, as it turned out. Nigel hoped he was out having some fun for a change. Nigel hated the thought of Draco Malfoy puttering about the big, empty house, all alone. He entered the darkened mansion, not bothering to light any of the candles. Rather, Nigel navigated his way throughout the house, eyes shut, allowing the energy of his surroundings tell him where to go. That lesson came from the Brazilian coven—they taught him to see internally, using his ability to sense the energy of his surroundings.

This led to a very challenging, very long two days in which, completely blindfolded and in pitch dark, Nigel had to made his way through a series of very cluttered, sometimes booby-trapped rooms and make his way to the atrium at the centre of the coven’s dwelling. Nigel’s first attempt left him with a badly gashed leg, which the leader of the coven quickly healed. His second attempt was better, leaving him with only a few scrapes and one large bruise on his left hip. The third time, as it turned out, really was the charm, and he made his way out entirely unscathed, and in record time.

Front parlour, corridor past Malfoy family portraits, morning room, ballroom, library. Nigel ended his blind quest at the grand desk of Lucius Malfoy. Nigel opened his eyes, knowing perfectly where he would be.

He sat in the plush wing chair and thought a moment, then opened the drawer and pulled out the box Draco had shown him months ago. It was a strange box, now that Nigel looked at it closer. It wasn’t just that it was a solid gold box—Nigel had already noticed that. But the detail on the box was intricate, elegant, classic. He opened it to look at the green stone inside. Nigel ceased to appreciate its true qualities when he first laid eyes on it, but now, in light of all he had just learned and experienced, Nigel couldn’t take his eyes off it. He wondered with awe at the skill and attention to detail that Abraxas Malfoy had put into the little stone.

It felt hot in his hand. He had never felt that before. It seemed to radiate outward from its tiny self, to Nigel’s amazement. Nigel wondered briefly at the difference, but then he understood.

Setting the stone back in its box, which he placed carefully back in the drawer, where it belonged, Nigel sat back and pondered for a very long time. He thought and thought and watched the sky outside turn from blue to pink to violet and finally, to black. Nothing. Concrete thought evaded him, mocked him, or so it seemed. Unsure of precisely what he searched for, Nigel took a deep breath and laboured to organize his thoughts.

It suddenly occurred to Nigel that, unlike before, he know understood both what to detect magically and how. Just as Sophia had explained to him months ago about tracking traces of magic, Nigel saw just how correct she was, in spite of her dark connections. He wondered why she would give him details like that, but then again, it seemed as if she lacked discretion in just about everything she said to him. Could she have supposed that he would accept her entirely simply because Snape was his cousin? That was something Nigel couldn’t know for certain.

What he did know was that he felt more empowered magically than he ever had before. Not only that, but he also understood so much better how to control and maximise his powers, something he truly hadn’t appreciated before. But these were times that needed what he could offer, and Nigel’s next task became to contrive a plan that would get the wizarding world out of this quagmire, once and for all.

The next morning, Saturday morning, Nigel rose early and went down to breakfast. He was pleasantly surprised to find Draco already down there, halfway through his steak and eggs. Draco barely looked up as Nigel entered the dining room and served himself breakfast from the sideboard.

“You got in late, mate,” Nigel said, spooning scrambled eggs and bangers onto his plate. “Out on the pull, I hope?”

Draco didn’t reply. Nigel sensed an argument. He wanted to explain why he was gone so long and why he never wrote, but he wasn’t sure he was capable of putting everything he had experienced into mere words. Nigel remained resolutely silent as he sat down at Draco’s right hand. That was when he noticed it—the chair at Draco’s left was pulled out slightly, and the silverware had definitely just been used, though the plate was gone. Draco looked at the empty place, then at Nigel, then continued his breakfast. Nigel grinned.

“I guess you were successful last night,” Nigel said with a snigger.

Draco shrugged, looking suddenly apprehensive. Nigel puzzled at his friend’s behaviour, but then he took a closer look at the empty place at the table. The coffee cup had lipstick on it, but it wasn’t just any colour—Nigel recognised it right away. He also detected the scent of violets in the air, and then he saw a familiar ring lying next to the coffee cup—three pink diamonds set in platinum, something Draco had given to…

Nigel couldn’t mask his shocked expression—there wasn’t enough _gravitas_ in him to repress it. How could Draco do this, after everything he had been through? It was impossible! Maddening! Downright foolish!

“How long has she been here?” Nigel asked plainly.

“Who?” Draco asked.

“Don’t lie to me, Draco,” Nigel lectured.

“Who do you think you are, my father? This is my house and if I want to invite Pansy here, then I will.” Draco slammed down his fork with a loud clatter.

“That is not the point,” Nigel snapped back. “Knowing what she is, what she believes in, how can you possibly justify bringing her here?”

“People change, Chaucer, if you haven’t noticed,” Draco said roughly. “I changed, Blaise changed, Vince changed, Snape changed—why not her?”

He had a point. The last thing Nigel wanted was to be unfair. Still…

“Do you know for a fact that she has changed?” he asked.

Draco rolled his eyes impatiently. “Trust me, Chaucer, the last thing I wanted to talk about with her is politics. That’s not exactly the most romantic subject in the world.”

“So you just shagged her?”

Draco blushed. “It’s been a long time, mate,” he said, a little too desperately. “You know how it is. A bloke can only go for so long without it.”

“That’s bullshit, Malfoy.”

“Well maybe for saints and heroes like yourself, it’s different, but for mere mortals like myself, I have certain requirements to stay alive and relatively happy.”

“So satisfying your sex drive is more important than staying true to your values?”

Draco frowned. “I don’t need a lecture, especially not from you. I may have renounced the Dark Lord, but that doesn’t mean I’ve changed in every way. I told you that a year ago. I’ve dropped the bigotry, but that’s about all I’ve dropped.”

“Don’t you see that you’re better than this, Draco?” Nigel said. He tried not to sound too simpering.

“Don’t you see that you’re being a prat?” Draco shot back. But then he looked down, almost ashamed. “Look, Chaucer, I didn’t plan any of this, I swear. I was at my father’s flat in London, where he used to have all his affairs. I wanted to collect some papers and put them in Gringott’s for safe keeping. I’m planning on selling the flat eventually. Anyway, the Parkinsons have a flat in the next building. I was exiting my building and walking down the street, and that’s when I ran into Pansy.”

“She wasn’t following you, was she? By the way, where did she go?”

“She’s in the bath.”

“Muffliato!” Nigel said, pointing a finger at the door. “So then you came here?”

“We had a huge row first—we were shouting and shrieking at each other. And then it sort of happened. We kissed a little, then a little more, and then we were back in my father’s place, and then we came here.” He sighed. “There’s a lot of history between us, Nigel. I can’t just set that aside. I really took advantage of her when I had her before, and…I just wanted to see if there was something genuine between us, without politics or anything else fucking it all up.”

“So what did you find out?” Nigel asked.

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know, mate. It’s just been a couple of days. I know that eventually we’ll have to stop shagging and start talking…but not yet.” He smiled mischievously.

Nigel scowled. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I. By the way, welcome home.”

Nigel laughed. “Thanks, Draco. It’s good to be back. I got in last night, pretty late.”

“Zabini and I had bets on whether you’d return at all. You look really different. I don’t know, I think it’s in your eyes.”

“Snape said the same thing.”

“You seen your parents?”

“I’ll go tomorrow night, after I sift through all my piled up work at the office. Today I’m catching up on what’s been going on in the wizarding world.”

“A lot, actually,” Draco said, helping himself to more eggs. “Lots of mayhem, lots of deaths of muggles and wizards. Scrimgeour almost got sacked.”

“You’re kidding!” Nigel exclaimed. “Geez, poor bloke.”

“The paper said you had a nervous collapse and you were away getting therapy. Then, the next week it said you might have become a Death Eater, and then the next week, it said you had lost your powers and were now a muggle living in Manchester. That one was my favourite.” 

Draco laughed, but Nigel didn’t. Rather, he sat very still in his chair as a new idea overpowered him. It was so clear, so…perfect.

“You are bloody fucking brilliant, Malfoy, you know that?” Nigel said.

“You mind interpreting that rather curious statement?” Draco asked sharply.

“I can’t. I know what it means, but there is no explanation. Not yet anyway. But there will be one, in time.” Nigel stood up, vanished his plate to the kitchen, wiped his mouth with his napkin and rushed up to his room to get dressed. Draco followed close at his heels.

“What’s going on, Nigel?” he asked, now worried at his friend’s sudden rush to leave. “Where are you off to?”

“The Ministry. Don’t wait up.”


	22. Who Deserves to Be a Wizard?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a solution! But is it too controversial?

The Ministry was all but empty when Nigel apparated there that Saturday morning. Nigel was a bit surprised, in truth. Considering everything that had gone on since his long absence, Nigel expected that people would be working around the clock containing and managing the situation. He expected all sorts of frenetic activity and excitement, but in fact there was…nothing. So where was everyone?

Nigel waved to the receptionist, who was buried behind a copy of _Witch Weekly_ and barely noticed his entrance. Donna was gone. Scrimgeour was gone. Hermione was gone. Gawain was gone. But then, Nigel saw an office door open, the candles lit inside. He grinned.

Arthur Weasley was at his desk, hard at work, making his way through a huge pile of Auror reports on recent incidents involving Taylor’s followers. He had a quill stuck behind his ear and an oversized flask of pumpkin juice on his desk. Nigel stepped halfway in the doorway and knocked softly. Arthur looked up and beamed.

“Nigel!” he exclaimed, jumping up and moving around his desk to embrace Nigel. “Goodness, you look wonderful! So different!”

Nigel laughed. “You know, you’re the third person to tell me that.”

“It’s your eyes, I think. There’s a sort of…I don’t know. Just something different. Maybe a touch of wisdom in them.”

That made Nigel terribly uncomfortable. He laughed again, trying to deflect his embarrassment. “Well, I don’t know about that, Arthur. But you’re right. I think I have changed in some respects…in a lot of respects, actually.”

“I heard you were back yesterday, in fact,” Arthur said.

Nigel puzzled at that. How could he possibly know? “How did you hear that? All I’ve seen is Draco and Severus…” Oh yes. Hogwarts. “Ginny must have told you.”

“She owled me yesterday evening. Said she saw you at a distance.”

“I should have said hello to her. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“Don’t worry about that. She understood. However, that does bring something to mind. I’ve had a little talk with Molly, and we’ve both agreed that we’d like to have a little welcome home party for you this week. This Thursday evening, if that’s good for you. The entire family, plus a few friends. I’ll send an owl to your parents and some of your muggle friends, too.”

Nigel was flabbergasted at the invitation. “That would be lovely, Arthur! I’ve never been to your home before.”

“Well, it’s not much to speak of, but I love it. It was my childhood home, you know.”

“Really?” Nigel said. “I had no idea. Did your father grow up there, too?”

“He bought it…well actually, someone sort of gave it to him when he first married my mother. He made some improvements on it as the years passed.”

“That’s amazing,” Nigel said, impressed. “And you’ve been so happy there all this time.”

“I think so. I assume so.”

“Honestly, Arthur, you’re the wisest man I know.”

“Oh really, Nigel…”

“No, I’m serious! You know why? It’s because you know exactly who you are.”

Arthur laughed. “You only know me now, in my middle age. I made a lot of stupid mistakes in my life, believe me.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, really, I have. I should have been a lot higher up in the Ministry a long time ago, but I didn’t do it that way.”

“But you’re happy with what you’re doing, yeah?”

“Well that’s the whole thing, isn’t it?”

“But that’s what makes you so wise,” Nigel said. “Like I said, you know who you are.”

“Trust me, Nigel, I’ve done plenty wrong. I never provided for my children like I should have. And Molly should live in a better place than my old childhood home. Poor Ron had to grow up with hand-me-downs and Percy couldn’t wait to get away from us.”

“No one starved. They all went to school, had books and supplies, even if they weren’t brand new all the time. They had love—you can’t put a price on that. And you earned their respect all this time. You can’t put a price on that either.”

Arthur chuckled. “You’re very kind, Nigel.”

“I think you’re a hero, Arthur. You do what you love, no matter what.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “And you?”

Nigel blushed. “What about me?”

“Do you honestly love doing this?”

Nigel paused. Did he? This wasn’t exactly his first choice for careers. In fact, a wizarding career was not his first choice at all, and even within the wizarding world, he had never dreamed of becoming anything other than a Healer or some sort of Potions maker in some vague capacity. He had also thought a little about working in the Department of Mysteries finding out how exactly he became a wizard.

But here he was, in charge of a situation that was far too big for him to handle. It was too big for anyone, for that matter.

“I don’t know, Arthur, to be honest. Can anyone love chasing after dark wizards or controlling a mad situation like this?”

“Do you want to keep with it? Do you want to quit?”

“NO! I have no intention of quitting! Too much has happened now.” He paused, suddenly desperate to change the subject. “Say, does the Ministry have an archive or a library?”

“You’re not changing the subject, are you?”

“Yes, a bit,” he admitted. “It’s just that if I’m ever going to end this thing, I’m at a point where I need to do a bit of research.”

Arthur sat back down at his desk and straightened his parchments, which he stuffed into a drawer in the desk and locked it with a red key Nigel had never noticed before. He then led Nigel down the corridor, around the corner and out toward the lift. Nigel had no idea where they were going, but allowed Arthur to lead him along the way. Together, they made their way to the Atrium, past the receptionist and out the front door, onto the street.

It suddenly occurred to Nigel that both of them were still dressed in wizard robes. This, however, did not dissuade Arthur from his mysterious quest. He led Nigel across the street, down three blocks and through a grubby alleyway. They stopped at a steel door, locked by a rusty latch.

“Pull out your wand, Nigel,” Arthur said. Nigel pulled it out. “Now then, tap on it four times and then say _aperi tabulae_.”

Nigel did as he was told. In an instant, the rusty latch vanished, and the door swung open freely. Arthur pushed it open and led Nigel inside the largest library Nigel had ever seen. Shelves and shelves of books towered over their heads, four stories high. Nigel couldn’t help but gasp in wonder as he looked up and around at everything in sight. It was spectacular.

“Hermione would go barkers in a place like this,” he said.

“She comes here once a week, after hours,” Arthur said pointedly. “So, Nigel, what is it you want to look up in the Wizarding National Archives?”

“The history of potions,” he said.

Arthur laughed. “Oh, only that? Such a narrow subject.”

“I’m looking for a specific piece of history. I assume there are potions that can enhance a wizard’s powers.”

“I don’t know about that. Perhaps in limited situations,” Arthur replied, frowning. “What are you up to, Nigel?”

Nigel wasn’t so sure he wanted to say. “It’s something I need to know. I’d rather not say anything until I’m sure of what I’m doing.”

“Do you need my help?”

“No, this is something I need to do on my own. But thanks. And thanks for showing me this place.”

Arthur turned to leave. “I’ll head back to the office, then. There is an important meeting tomorrow regarding a new plan of attack the Aurors will be launching next week. It should be interesting.”

“Do you have any confidence in it?” Nigel asked.

Arthur paused. “No. The entire situation has careened far out of anyone’s control at this point. The only thing that will work is something very drastic and…very violent.”

Nigel scowled. “Well, I don’t know about that, Arthur. I’ll see you at the meeting.”

* * * * *

He must have been there for ten hours straight, maybe more. Nigel read and researched and wrote, finally coming to a few conclusions and, for the first time in a long while, a potential way out of the quagmire. He put the stacks of dusty, yellowing books and old parchments aside for the librarian to put away, and strode out of the archive, tired but excited. Nigel couldn’t wait to reveal his own plan at the meeting.

He didn’t have to wait long.

The meeting began at eight o’clock sharp Monday morning in the Minister’s office. Nigel’s appearance at the meeting brought much excitement and talk and gossip. He held his composure, his mind preoccupied with what he wanted to say to the assembled witches and wizards at the meeting. Scrimgeour called the meeting to order.

“First of all, I’d like to welcome back Nigel Chaucer,” Scrimgeour began. “And he comes back not a moment too soon—just as we are about to launch a new and, I think, very effective program that will help to contain our current situation.”

“Perhaps we should bring Mr. Chaucer up to speed on what has been going on since he left six months ago,” Gawain Robards suggested.

A haggard-looking Kingsley Shaklebolt stood up to give his report. “Since you left us, sir, more than six hundred muggles have been injured by dark wizards. Three hundred and sixty-one more muggles have been killed by wizards. Beyond that, many muggle residences and businesses have been damaged or destroyed by wizards.”

“All followers of Taylor?” Nigel asked, horrified at the report.

“Naturally. A few arrests have been made, but not nearly enough,” Shaklebolt continued. “Five hundred and seventy-six witches and wizards have also been injured by the same followers, and fifty-three have been killed.”

“How many followers of Taylor do you reckon there are?” Nigel asked.

“Probably two thousand. Maybe twenty-five hundred. Enough to cause a lot of damage throughout Britain. These people are on a mission.”

Gawain Robards stood up. “And this brings us to our proposed program, which we want to roll out next Monday. It will involve an intense manhunt for offending wizards. House to house searches, in fact. When they are apprehended, they will be brought to Azkaban and processed properly.”

“And what will that do?” Nigel asked skeptically.

“Bring to justice many offending wizards,” Gawain replied.

“True.” Nigel sighed. “Look, everyone, I think we need a more thorough approach to this. No offense, Kingsley. I know your program will work well and I support it wholeheartedly. But there has to be a greater penalty than what we already have for certain types if offenders. I don’t think the threat of Azkaban is enough for some of these fanatics.”

“You’re not suggesting the death penalty, are you?” Scrimgeour asked, horrified.

“No, Minister, of course not,” Nigel replied. “But I am suggesting two things. First of all, the Muggle Protection Act needs to be strengthened, in terms of the penalty invoked when one breaks the law. That brings me to the second thing—the penalty itself. At Azkaban, they already have the Dementors Kiss, but I was thinking of something a bit more humane, though equally final in its scope.”

“And that is?” Scrimgeour asked.

“It occurred to me that magic is an amazing gift, a supreme privilege. Having magical abilities, therefore, necessitates a certain level of responsibility and civic duty.”

“What are you suggesting, Mr. Chaucer?” Shaklebolt asked.

“I’m suggesting that the penalty is to make the offending witch or wizard a squib.”

“You mean strip them of their powers?” Scrimgeour asked.

“Exactly,” Nigel replied.

The room broke out in excited, troubled murmuring. It was hard for Nigel to discern just how many were with him and how many thought he was out of his mind. All he knew was that the idea resonated with all of them, in a very strong way.

“I’d like to debate this, actually,” Hermione said cautiously. “I mean, I think that’s a bit extreme.”

“I’m not saying every offence against muggles should be punished in this way, but for the major offenders,” Nigel explained, “they are the ones who need to pay this price. I know this sounds very radical, but I have come to believe that some people don’t deserve to be witches or wizards.”

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” she said. “Who is anyone to say who deserves to be a witch or wizard? It’s an accident of birth!”

“Or in your case, just an accident,” Arthur said quietly. Scrimgeour half grinned.

“And it brings responsibility, too!” Nigel shot back. “I’ve lived both lives, unlike anyone else in this room, so I know what I’m talking about. Muggles are almost entirely defenceless against a dark witch or wizard because we’re not bound by the usual rules of time and space. We can create havoc somewhere and then just disapparate, just like that, whilst the muggles have to pick up the pieces. It’s not a level playing field and therefore, the penalties for grievous offences against muggles must be absolute.”

“But a muggle can use a gun or a knife,” Hermione said. “You don’t have to be a genius to see the damage muggles have done to the world, Nigel.”

“I’m not saying muggles are saints, Hermione. That’s not the point.”

“I have to agree with Nigel,” Arthur said. “I’ve seen some pretty dark wizards in my time, and I can remember times where I wished they didn’t have any magic at all, especially when they turn around and injure muggles.”

“But our powers are a part of who we are,” Hermione said. “Even though I’m from a muggle family, I see myself primarily and thoroughly as a witch.”

“I see myself as a wizard, too,” Arthur replied kindly. “If I were to lose my powers, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“But you’re making my point,” Hermione answered him.

“No, I’m making Nigel’s point. If I have been using my powers to maim and kill muggles, destroy muggle business and families, then I don’t deserve to keep the powers I have. I don’t deserve to call myself a wizard. It’s not a fair fight when we have ways of protecting ourselves against the worst of what muggles can do, whilst the muggles have no defence against the Voldemorts of our world.”

More murmuring erupted, angry, confused, ardent. Finally, Scrimgeour stood up and quieted everyone down. “I think we need to discuss this a little further before we make any decisions.”

Decisions? What was that? Nigel felt a strong urge to make an executive decision on this issue, but then he remembered what he had learned from Snape regarding _gravitas_. This was the time for complete seriousness and decorum, not getting emotionally overwrought. Nigel stood up to speak further.

“Before you debate this issue further, I wish to say something,” Nigel began. “It is clear to me that we are facing an enemy that has no intention of stopping its attacks against muggles and other wizards and witches. These fanatics are singularly interested in upsetting both the wizarding world and muggle society for the purpose of gaining power for themselves. These are not people you can negotiate with…”

“We haven’t tried,” Hermione interjected.

“Well maybe it’s high time we did, then,” Nigel replied coolly.

“Call a meeting with Taylor himself?” Scrimgeour asked.

“Is that wise?” Gawain wondered.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Nigel asked. “Either we try and speak to them, or else you’ve just proven my point about negotiations. I’d like your thoughts on this.”

Arthur grinned. “I think we need to stand behind Nigel’s plan, to be honest. I see your concern, Hermione, but I must disagree with you. Nigel is absolutely correct about Taylor’s followers. They have absolutely no scruples, and if we think we can come to some agreement with them on anything, you are very much mistaken.”

“I agree, too,” Kingsley said. “I’ve seen too much of what these people are capable of. Just two weeks ago, they caused a school bus filled with children to run off the road. Seven children were injured! I think it’s a brilliant idea, Mr. Chaucer. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that we should have done this months ago.”

“I agree as well,” said an elderly witch. “We have an obligation to use our powers responsibly.”

“Exactly,” another, slightly younger witch added. “We have a right to be free, but if we break the law, we go to Azkaban. If we misuse our powers to such a degree that innocent muggles are getting killed, such as Mr. Chaucer’s poor girlfriend, then I agree.”

“But why isn’t Azkaban punishment enough?” Hermione asked.

“Even in Azkaban, there’s the Dementor’s Kiss,” Nigel said. “Personally, I believe that my plan is far more humane. I’ve always thought the Kiss was far too cruel, even for the worst offenders. I can imagine losing my magic, but I can’t imagine losing my soul. That is a terrible burden. My plan merely strips the offender of his or her powers. They keep their mind, their consciousness, their ability to choose, and they can even remain in society. Without their powers, they pose no more threat than any other muggle, and they can also pay the price for their crimes against muggles, in muggle prison.”

“I like it,” Scrimgeour said, thinking deeply. “It makes sense. Good job, Chaucer.”

“Then I’d like us to put it to a vote,” Nigel said.

“Now?” Hermione said, taken aback. “With no further discussion or consideration? This is too drastic to put to a quick vote, Nigel. Let’s at least take a day or two and ponder it over, maybe talk amongst ourselves. Does that make sense?”

“That sounds reasonable to me, Nigel,” Arthur agreed.

Nigel paused, then nodded. “Alright, then. Let’s vote on this Friday after lunch. That gives you almost a full week. Agreed?”

Agreed.

Disappointed but not daunted, Nigel later returned to his office, ready to take the next step. Hermione, equally undaunted, followed closely at his heels, determined to make her case.

“Nigel, this is a huge mistake!” she said. “Please, you must know that.”

“I know why you feel this way,” he replied patiently. “But you have to be realistic. What good is it to anyone simply to fill Azkaban with these people?”

“And you think they won’t continue to be a danger if you take their powers away?”

“Not as witches or wizards. And that’s saying something. Think of the terrible damage one wizard can do to an entire community. Think about how powerful we are, Hermione! We can bewitch the mind, use the Imperius Curse, modify memories, cause muggles to attack each other, all with total impunity! That is not just! You must understand that. This is the only way to level the playing field, for the muggles’ sake.”

She frowned. “You’re thinking of Lucy.”

“Not just Lucy,” Nigel replied quietly. “It’s my parents, your parents, even Harry’s relatives. It’s for everyone who is not equipped to match powers with people like us. Our laws and our justice must be different for that very reason.”

Hermione stood silently, unable to respond. She sniffled. “I guess I just keep thinking how it would be if I lost my powers.”

Nigel kissed her on the cheek. “I doubt you’re in any danger of that, Hermione. You’re a good woman.”

“You have no idea how bad it’s been, Nigel,” she said.

Inside Nigel’s office, he shut the door and poured out a glass of mead for Hermione. She drank it down amazingly fast.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he said, sipping on his own glass of mead.

To his shock, Hermione burst into tears. He handed her a handkerchief so she could blow her nose and dry her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Nigel,” she cried. “It’s been so stressful and so awful these last few months. With you gone, it was like all our abilities just fell away! Arthur did his best to contain the situation, but Rufus just couldn’t do a thing! And people kept dying, and no one was doing anything other than sending out Aurors to make arrests, but even they couldn’t do anything much. We lost three Aurors just last month!”

“How are Ron and Harry holding up?”

She sniffled again. “Robards has accelerated their training to make them available for duty a whole year earlier.”

Nigel frowned. “That can’t go on. Those Aurors need as much training as they can get!” He pulled a parchment out of his desk and scribbled a note to Scrimgeour on it. “Hold on.” Nigel left the room for a moment, then came back in with Arthur.

“Arthur, did you know that Gawain is cutting down Auror training?” Nigel asked.

“He can’t do that!” Arthur snapped.

“Well he is,” Hermione said. “Harry told me the other week.”

“That’s outrageous! They must be desperate,” Arthur replied.

“We need to speak to Rufus about that, put a stop to it,” Nigel said.

They all agreed. Hermione blew her nose.

“How will you do it, Nigel?” she asked. “How will you stop them?”

“A potion, of course.”


	23. Double Double Toil and Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Burrow was entirely lit up with candles and lanterns in every part of the house, inside and out. Nigel had never seen such a place before, but once he stepped into the strange and madcap home, he suddenly understood his assistant almost completely. It was one of the most wonderful, whimsical places he had ever seen before. There were weird, fascinating objects everywhere, including Arthur’s proud collection of muggle plugs and the old microwave oven Nigel had given him months ago. Someone—Ginny, Nigel suspected—had placed an empty package of U-No-Poo on top of it. The next thing he knew, someone had placed a drink in one hand and a half ham sandwich in the other hand._

The air in the Potions classroom was thick with steel blue steam, and the potion Nigel was hard at work brewing smelled lightly of mint. That was exactly what he had hoped for. The colour halfway through the process was a light mushroom, but was quickly turning reddish yellow. Nigel grinned at his progress.

Snape sat at his desk, marking a stack of essays as Nigel worked. Every now and again, a derisive grunt emanated from his side of the room. Nigel stifled a laugh at his cousin’s expense.

“Listen to this,” Snape began, in total disgust, “ _In odor to make the woofsbain poton work good, you got to fry it under the moonlight._

Nigel snorted. “Don’t make me laugh, Severus! I’ll cock up the potion!” He dropped an ice cube in the potion, making it turn blood red.

“Why the ice cube? Those ingredients usually necessitate heat.”

“Not in this case. Not for the desired effect, anyway. I’ve tried this six times previous, and I’m determined to get it right this time. The ice is used to accelerate the effects on the body. It slows the essential elements of the potion so that they can concentrate during the settling process.”

“And you plan on doing this with one ice cube?”

“Just one. Trust me, Severus, I know what I’m doing. I studied this very carefully.”

“You must have gone to Jade.”

Nigel smiled as he worked on. “I did, actually. Do you know her?”

“I’ve only heard of her. She’s legendary. Veneficus must have sent you to her.”

“You’d like her. If she weren’t married, I’d set you up with her.” Nigel sniggered.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Don’t do me any favours, Chaucer,” he grumbled.

“So come on, read me more of that brilliant writing,” Nigel said brightly.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “You’re in a good mood, Chaucer. I suppose you’re in some sordid relationship or something.”

“No, not now. Too busy. I’m just excited to get this potion done.”

“And exactly how are you going to test it out?” Snape asked.

Nigel laid out a small bezoar and began mincing it. “I thought about that, actually, and I think I have a solution, though I think Hermione will flip out when she hears about it. I talked to the warden at Azkaban yesterday evening, and he’s found a particular prisoner who is willing to have his powers taken from him, in exchange for his freedom.”

“Who’s the poor sap?”

“We’re still hashing out the details on that. Plus, I still have to wait for the team to vote on this entire thing.”

Snape nodded. “Thus the rush to get this potion finished.”

“Sort of. By Friday, this potion will be made, rested and ready to be tested. It has to work, Severus. I’m sure it will.”

Snape set his parchments aside and turned to face Nigel. “Nigel, are you certain this is a good idea?” he asked. “Are you sure this isn’t too drastic?”

“You disagree with me?”

“Actually, I don’t. We should have had this potion years ago. But you need to be sure of what you’re doing. Any hesitation on your part will spell disaster.”

“What do you mean?”

“You must be resolute in your incantation over the potion. Otherwise, it won’t work.”

Nigel sighed. Snape had a point. Still, it didn’t matter. Nigel had never been so certain of anything in all his life. Thus, as he spoke the incantation three hours and thirty-three minutes later, he focused all his mental energies on doing it just right. For the full effect, he pulled out his wand and moved it slowly from right to left, then from low to high, three times.

“ _Magus non iam_ ,” Nigel intoned in a low, dramatic voice as he moved his wand. “ _Magus non iam. Magus non iam_.” The potion bubbled and bubbled, though at this point it was ice cold. And then, in an instant, its translucent surface became perfectly still.

Snape peered into the cauldron. “Wow,” he whispered, in spite of himself.

* * * * *

The Burrow was entirely lit up with candles and lanterns in every part of the house, inside and out. Nigel had never seen such a place before, but once he stepped into the strange and madcap home, he suddenly understood his assistant almost completely. It was one of the most wonderful, whimsical places he had ever seen before. There were weird, fascinating objects everywhere, including Arthur’s proud collection of muggle plugs and the old microwave oven Nigel had given him months ago. Someone—Ginny, Nigel suspected—had placed an empty package of U-No-Poo on top of it.

“Nigel!” Arthur said. “Welcome!” Someone had stuck a flower into the buttonhole of Arthur’s brown robes.

The place was absolutely jammed with people—every Weasley child was there, including Ginny and Percy, as well as Fleur and the baby, Harry, Hermione, Blaise, Draco, friends from the Ministry, friends from school, Mr. and Mrs. Chaucer, even Jimmy and Clive and their girlfriends. Nigel was overwhelmed.

The next thing he knew, someone had placed a drink in one hand and a half ham sandwich in the other hand.

“Sit down, dear, sit down!” Molly said, steering Nigel toward a wing chair near the huge fireplace.

“Thanks, Molly,” he said. Nigel had no idea what to expect from her. He wanted to believe what Ginny had told him months ago, but then again, maybe things had changed once again. He did all he could to be as friendly as possible. Nigel took a bite from the sandwich—it was the best he had ever had. “This is wonderful!” he said.

She smiled at him. “It’s a very small peace offering,” she said.

“Look, Molly, you don’t owe me anything. Really. Just being here without any arguments is just perfect.”

“Well it’s about bloody time!” Ginny crowed, plopping herself down on the arm of Nigel’s chair. “You ignored me last week, you rascal,” she said playfully to Nigel.

“That was on purpose, of course,” Nigel joked.

“Of course!” Ginny laughed. “You’re practically the king of England by now, right?”

“Um, well, not quite yet. I believe I’m four million and seventh in line. Just behind Severus!”

“So when are you going to tell us the story, Nigel?” Fred asked, sitting on the other arm of the chair.

“Kids, off the chair!” Arthur snapped at them. Neither of them moved.

“Nigel’s going to tell us where the heck he’s been all this time!” George called out to the assembled company.

Nigel didn’t exactly want to talk much about his journey, for many reasons. Much of what he experienced was very personal, very private, significant to none other than himself. Still, he knew he had a few stories he could share with everyone. As the guests gathered in every available space around Nigel, he caught a glance into Ginny’s eyes. She smiled warmly and settled herself back on the arm of his chair, stretching her arm across the back of the chair, just behind Nigel’s head. His hair graced the soft skin of her bare arm.

“How many continents did you visit?” George asked.

“Uh…five, I think. I went to the United States, South America, Europe, Asia and Africa.”

“Did you have a favourite place?” Fred asked.

“We should go on a Grand Tour, shouldn’t we Fred?” George asked.

“Next summer, George,” Fred replied. “So go on, blood brother, give us a good place to go.”

“Well, I stayed with this coven in Brazil for a few weeks—it was a bit strange at first, considering I was the token male in the group.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad, mate,” Jimmy quipped.

Nigel laughed. “You didn’t see the coven.”

“Ouch!” Fred laughed. “Bunch of hags?”

“Somewhat. Slightly more attractive than the Weird Sisters in _Macbeth_.” To Nigel’s astonishment, hardly anyone knew what he meant. “It’s a play by Shakespeare.” Silence. “You know, William Shakespeare?”

“The Bard of Avon, right?” Ginny asked.

“Exactly,” Hermione said, scowling slightly.

“What was really fascinating about the place was that they lived almost entirely in the dark. By choice.”

“Why?” Ginny asked, crinkling her nose.

“They live almost entirely by their magical senses. The things they can do are absolutely astounding. I learned a lot from them, but not nearly enough. I wish I could have stayed for another month.”

George laughed. “In the dark? Sounds a bit dull, mate. I’m more into sunshine and warm beaches and girls in skimpy swimming costumes.”

He and Fred laughed. Arthur suppressed a snigger when he caught the fierce eye of his wife. He coughed uncomfortably.

“It really wasn’t, I swear,” Nigel said. “You face every insecurity you have when you’re in the dark trying to make your way out of a place. When I first started, I was a complete mess, but by the end of my stay, I can’t even begin to tell you how I learned to…to sense the world, totally by magic and not with my other senses. It was amazing!”

Nigel told them as much as he dared, keeping out details of specific spells he mastered and potions theories he learned. He told them about his experience in Mr. Veneficus’ field, but left out the details about his enduring grief over Lucy’s death. After all, this was a party, not a funeral. As he sat and told tale after tale, Nigel took notice of something curious. Absolutely every person hung on his every word as he spoke, bringing to mind Snape’s lessons about _gravitas_. It wasn’t that he was attempting put on a false mask of seriousness in order to impress of anyone in that room, because he wasn’t. But Nigel recognised a new power—the power of words and of persuasion. This was less about magic and more about basic human relations.

It was the most important lesson of them all.

As the evening passed like a slow, blithe dream, Nigel broke away from the crowd and walked outside into the cool evening air. He took off his shoes to feel the cold, wet grass beneath his feet. Nigel wiggled his toes a little and walked toward the woods on the edge of the Weasley property. The moon hung low, like a little golden sliver in the black sky, smiling down on him. He barely noticed the presence of another coming up behind him. But then he smelled roses. Nigel turned around.

“Ginny,” he said.

“Hi,” she replied.

He approached her and smiled. “I’m so glad you came tonight. I was afraid Professor McGonagall wouldn’t let you out.”

“I impressed upon her the importance of the occasion. And you know she has a soft spot for you.” She smiled. He smiled back.

Nigel couldn’t help looking into her sparkling eyes. “Gods you look so beautiful tonight!” he exclaimed. “I can’t take my eyes off you!”

And then she kissed him. It was such a simple act, filled with wild sweetness and tenderness. It was something Nigel never expected, yet welcomed with all of his heart as he pulled her closer to him. Her lips tasted a little like butterbeer, but soft and light. He pressed his own lips against hers, gently caressing the tip of her tongue with his. Her fingers massaged the back of his neck as their kiss deepened. Nigel let a moan of pleasure escape as Ginny ran her hands slowly down his back.

She laughed and kissed his cheeks, his nose, and then his lips once again. And then she pulled away from him, her face suddenly troubled.

“What?” Nigel asked.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Ginny confessed.

“Why not? It was lovely.” He reached for her hand, but she kept it from him.

“But you’re still grieving over Lucy, aren’t you?”

Nigel flushed, entirely lost for words. How could he possibly respond to such a statement? He blanched in utter disbelief and shame. “I…I don’t know what to say.” He suddenly felt horrible, like a traitor. Nigel knew he had to move on, but he started to wonder if he was moving too quickly. “Gods, Ginny! I’m such an ass!”

“I’m sorry, Nigel, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Ginny said, noting his distress. “What a terrible thing to say! Just forget I said it at all.”

Nigel cringed as he felt hot, wet tears slither down his face just then. There was no holding them back, as hard as he tried. Ginny threw her arms around his shoulders and nuzzled his cheek with her own. Nigel didn’t know what to do—he thought he had released all his grief, and yet, he found himself suddenly and painfully paralysed by it all over again. He furtively dried his face with the back of his hand.

“This is stupid,” Nigel said, trying to gather himself together again.

“No, it’s not,” she said, stroking his arm with the tips of her fingers. “I was entirely insensitive. I’m sorry, Nigel.” Her touch felt like soft velvet against his skin, and soon, Nigel felt himself melting into her, incapable of controlling his sudden surge of passion for her.

Their kiss was furious, blistering, wild. Nigel crushed her body to his in a powerful embrace. He traced the curve of her waist, the outline of her silhouette with his hands, drinking in her beauty and sensuality with every part of himself. Time had no relevance now as they explored each other, touched and sensed and melted into each other.

But suddenly…Arthur. A terrible thought at such a moment. Nigel could feel himself wilt at the very thought of Ginny’s father. No longer was Arthur his trusted and wise assistant. He was a father. He was the father of the girl he so desperately wanted for himself. This time, Nigel pulled away, excruciating as it was.

“What?” Ginny asked breathlessly.

“We can’t do this, Ginny,” Nigel said. “I want to make love to you.”

“I want to make love to you, too.”

“But your father!”

“What about him?” She kissed his lips again. “He’s inside entertaining everyone.”

“I can’t do this! I work with him! How can I face him if I’ve…you know?”

Ginny laughed. “Gods, Nigel, you’re such a gentleman! I had no idea you were so traditional.”

Nigel blushed. “Is that bad?”

“It’s wonderful,” she said, kissing him again. “You’re absolutely wonderful.” She paused. “Do you want to back inside?”

“Not really. You?”

“Not really.” Ginny laughed. “I was just remembering our first kiss.”

“In that hallway at the Three Broomsticks, right?”

“Yeah! Right outside the ladies’ loo, with about thirty people all around! I remember our first date, too.”

“Correction. Our only date.”

They walked a little, just to the edge of the woods. Nigel spotted a gnome scamper past in the distance. His mind puzzled now as to what to do, how to handle this current situation. It wasn’t just that he was busy at the Ministry and that most of his waking moments were preoccupied by ending Taylor’s reign of terror. Ginny was still at school, had her exams in a matter of weeks. How would they manage to start a relationship when they would barely see each other or even think of each other? The only thing Nigel could think of was that, if there was really something there, it would make itself known, in one way or another.

He just hoped Ginny felt the same way.

* * * * *

Friday morning came far too early, and far too quickly. That morning as Nigel arose from his bed at Malfoy Manor, he could barely contain his anxiety and anticipation. On top of that, Nigel had been kept up half the night by Draco and Pansy’s uncomfortably noisy lovemaking. They had been carrying on like that for days on end, hours at a time, and by now, Nigel didn’t know how much more of it he could take. In spite of Draco’s insistence that Pansy had changed for the better, Nigel just couldn’t see it himself. All he could see was her imperiousness, her perpetual snobbishness, and even a tinge of the old pureblooded bigotry that Draco seemed conveniently to ignore.

But he couldn’t dwell on that right now. Nigel had more pressing matters on his mind. As he dressed in one of Lucius’ emerald green robes and supple brown leather shoes, Nigel uttered a short prayer of hope and peace. He hoped that the team would see his wisdom and vote his way. He hoped that he could use this potion he had worked so hard to develop as soon as possible. He hoped that the decision made today would bring this whole crisis to an unquestionable end.

In the dining room that morning, Nigel found Pansy alone, finishing a poached egg and a cup of coffee. She looked amazingly composed and ladylike for someone who had spent the last seven hours screaming out pornographic expletives at Draco as they did their filthy business together.

“You’re up early,” he said, filling his plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, sliced tomatoes and a scone. He poured himself a cup of coffee as he sat down across from her.

“So are you,” she replied delicately.

“Lots to do. Lots of decisions to make.”

“Lots of people think you’re letting your power go to your head,” she commented casually.

“I don’t really care,” Nigel replied coolly.

“That’s what everyone says,” she shot back. “You don’t seem to care about anyone but yourself.”

Nigel frowned. The last thing he needed was to allow Pansy Parkinson set him off. He ate his breakfast and tried to ignore her, though she seemed determined to make that impossible.

“Draco says you went off to learn magic,” she said sharply.

“So?”

“Trying to make yourself more powerful than the Minister?”

“Don’t be thick, Pansy,” Nigel said with disgust.

She shrugged. “Don’t blame me. That’s what everyone’s saying about you, not just me.”

“Well everyone else has it wrong,” he said harshly. Nigel lost his appetite.

As he apparated to the Ministry that morning, Nigel mulled over what Pansy had said to him. Though he wasn’t one to agonise over public opinion, Nigel couldn’t help but feel somewhat self conscious as he walked down the corridor toward his office. He knew clearly why he had gone away—to find a solution to this crisis that had skidded far out of control—but he wondered how clearly the rest of the wizarding world saw it. He also wondered if that really mattered. Nigel understood that public opinion could be harsh and even disappointing, but he also knew that effectiveness was more important. On the other hand, if no one could see his effectiveness, then how effective was he? All these thoughts plagued Nigel’s mind as he entered his office that morning.

Arthur wasn’t in yet, to Nigel’s disappointment. He had hoped to confide in his assistant before he went into that most important of meetings, but no luck. Then Nigel had a terrible thought. What if Ginny had told Arthur what happened between her and Nigel? What if she had declared her love for Nigel, perhaps against Arthur’s wishes? Nigel had no idea what to think. He rummaged through a few parchments on his desk, then prepared himself for his meeting. The clock ticked away slowly. Far too slowly. He wanted it over with, regardless of the outcome. But he would have to wait. He tapped his fingers nervously on his desk.

Arthur was late. Well, only ten minutes late, but late all the same. Nigel nearly sprang out of his chair when he heard the familiar sounds of Arthur arriving, setting down his things, his lunch, his cloak. Trying desperately to restrain himself, Nigel got up as slowly as he could manage in his nervous anticipation, and poked his head into Arthur’s office.

“Hey!” he said brightly. “You made it!”

Arthur chuckled. “You’re a bit nervous this morning, aren’t you?”

Nigel sighed. “Today’s a big day.”

“True. Are you ready for whatever comes?”

“No,” Nigel admitted. “If everyone votes no, I don’t know what I’ll do, to be honest.”

“You have to admit that your proposition is very controversial. There are likely to be serious objections, and not just from Hermione.”

Nigel nodded. “I know, Arthur. Do I seem desperate?”

“Maybe just a little. On the other hand, your plan does make good sense, drastic as it is.”

One by one, the Ministry officials gathered in Nigel’s office, each seeming weighed down by his or her final decision. Nigel felt tempted to use Legilimency to ease his tension, but thought better of it. Instead, he busied himself setting out presentation packets containing plans of attack at each of the twenty-five places around the table. Scrimgeour brought the meeting to order. Donna sat at his side, holding a black velvet bag.

“Now then, ladies and gentlemen,” Scrimgeour began, “let us get down to business. We have had an entire week to consider the merits of Mr. Chaucer’s plan to strip the powers from offending wizards, in limited circumstances, and now the time has come for us to take a vote.”

Nigel gulped. His heart raced in his chest.

“Now then,” Scrimgeour continued, “if you are in favour of Mr. Chaucer’s plan, then write down YES on the blue parchment in front of you. If you are against his plan, then write NO. Is that clear? Now remember, we need a two-thirds majority for this plan to pass. That means 17 yes votes. Are there any questions before we commence with the voting?”

No questions. Everyone took up their quills and pulled the blue squares of parchment toward themselves. Nigel noticed that some people wrote their responses very quickly, whereas others took a few minutes before they wrote out a response. Hermione took longer than Nigel expected, making him wonder intensely how she voted. Arthur, on the other hand, wrote his response immediately. Nigel had an idea how Arthur would vote on this. Donna circled the table, allowing each team member place his or her vote into the black bag, which she then handed to Scrimgeour, who did not vote.

Donna took notes whilst the Minister read out the responses. Nigel knew he needed seventeen votes for his plan to carry.

“Yes… yes... yes… yes… no… yes… yes… no… no… yes… no… yes… yes… yes… yes… yes… yes… yes… no… no… yes… yes… yes… yes… yes,” Scrimgeour counted out. Nigel sighed. He could barely believe it!

“How many is that, Donna?” Arthur asked.

“That’s…uh…nineteen yes and six no,” she replied, checking the count carefully.

Nigel breathed a huge sigh of relief. His proposal had passed! He was far more excited than he could possibly express, and he stood ready now to make a serious presentation. Nigel stood up to speak to the assembled officials.

“First of all, I wish to thank all of you who voted with me on this, and for those of you who did not…” He glanced over at a very stoic Hermione… “I hope that you will be willing to work with this plan and eventually see the wisdom in it. We want to be humane, but we also need to take a stand about magic itself, and this is the very best way to do it.”

Gawain raised his hand. “How exactly do you plan to implement this program?” he asked. “Will the offenders have a choice? How will we gauge who is punished in this way and who is not?”

Nigel nodded. “Those are great questions, Gawain, and if you all will take a look, I have everything laid out in this document.” With a wave of his hand, a blue booklet appeared before each member of the team. “As you can see, the action plan is laid out very carefully. The worst offenders, such as Taylor and Quinn, will have no option. In fact, I have every intention of dealing with those two personally.”

“How do you mean?” Hermione asked skeptically.

“Never you mind,” Nigel replied coolly. “I have my ways.”


	24. The Bottle and the Blue Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So when Geoffrey Taylor arrived at exactly midnight with Heroditus Q, Krista Quinn and eight others in their inner circle, Nigel was ready. He sat at the head of a long table in a dark corner of the dimly lit, lightly populated tavern, putting on as boyish a look as he could muster—he had made sure to wear an older, slightly shabby set of robes, rather than the magnificent ones he had “inherited” from Lucius Malfoy. Nigel waved his hand timorously as Taylor and his entourage entered. Taylor looked Nigel up and down with an imperious sneer, then sidled over casually to the table, placing himself at the opposite end as Nigel. Nigel looked up at everyone with innocent eyes as they all sat down._

“Mum! Dad! It’s me!” Nigel shouted as he entered his parents’ house. He stopped and sniffed the air—roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Nigel grinned with anticipation.

But where were his parents? His father should have been home an hour ago, and his mother…well, she could be next door or down the street. Then again, the neighbours had grown more than a little cold toward the Chaucers since Nigel’s appearance on television, telling the entire nation that he was a wizard. Since then, more than a few of the people of St. Luke treated them nearly as strangers. Mrs. Chaucer noticed how people would often cross the street when they saw her walking at a distance. Then there were the occasional eggs thrown at their windows, though that had mostly ceased months ago. In recent weeks, the Chaucers had gone from _persona non grata_ to…sort of invisible…not hated, not feared, not much of anything.

“Down here, honey!” Mrs. Chaucer’s voice sounded from the cellar. The sound of footsteps, then, a door opening and shutting. Nigel’s mother emerged, her arms filled with baskets of clothes.

“What’s all that?” Nigel asked, helping her set the baskets down 

“Old clothes and linens to donate to charity. Nothing major. I had a feeling you were coming tonight.”

Nigel laughed. “I know. You made my favourite! Oh, by the way, I brought you more Shield Potion. Dad said you were running low. I brought you a six month supply.”

“Thank goodness! We only have about a week’s worth left.”

“I left it on the kitchen counter.”

Dinner that night with his parents was the best meal Nigel had eaten in a very long time. The house elf at Malfoy Manor cooked fairly well, but nowhere near as well as Mrs. Chaucer, at least as far as Nigel was concerned. As he ate and chatted with his parents, Nigel felt a terrible pang of regret in his heart. It was the same thing he had felt during his first few weeks at Hogwarts last year—this terrible, grinding, horrible homesickness that he felt powerless against. But going home was out of the question. Nigel was an adult, a man, a highly ranked Ministry official who had every reason to be strong and resolute in every aspect of his life.

Occasionally, Nigel had to remind himself that he wasn’t yet nineteen years old, which still baffled him. In all this time that he worked at the Ministry, he had grown from an insecure novice to a seasoned statesman. Nigel wasn’t sure how exactly this transformation took place, but one thing he did know was that, had it not been for Arthur Weasley’s encouragement, he might never have really grown into his position. It almost made him laugh to think of how tremulous and insecure he had been only a few months ago. His transformation, however, gave him pause. It was almost too fast, too perfect. Yet was it perfect? Nigel thought not. After all, he had lost so much, suffered so bitterly, been brought to his knees in agony. Nigel saw through that now. This was the stuff that defined him, made him a man.

But it didn’t always make him happy and it didn’t make him satisfied. That would have been too convenient, to gain all the answers. Even with this plan in mind, and as confident as he felt about it, Nigel still harboured a sense of dread about the whole enterprise.

As they ate dinner that evening, Nigel explained certain parts of his plans for Taylor and Quinn and their followers. His parents listened with a mixture of excitement and concern.

“Do you really think that potion will work?” Mr. Chaucer asked.

“I know it will, Dad,” Nigel replied. “I was very particular when I brewed it. I studied every ingredient very carefully.”

“So it’s your own invention?” Mrs. Chaucer asked.

“Sort of. I learned a lot from Jade, that lady I worked with in New York. She was a real genius. I learned more from her in a month than I did from Severus in a year.”

Mr. Chaucer frowned. “You know that people will be upset by such a strict penalty. Have you considered the repercussions? You don’t want to turn Taylor into a martyr.”

“We’ve got it all worked out,” Nigel explained, a little impatiently. “Not every offender will have to take the potion. Only the very worst—those who actually cause the death of a muggle.”

“And you think that most witches and wizards will buy it?” Mr. Chaucer asked. “They won’t think this is too extreme?”

“I can’t be ruled by popular opinion, Dad. Not in this situation.”

“This touches the very heart of your community, Nigel,” Mr. Chaucer said. “Your magic is what makes you different from us.”

“I know, but too many lives are at stake right now, both wizard and muggle. It has to be public policy, not just a single penalty for a single group of people.”

“That all sounds very noble, honey, but let me ask you. You’re sure this isn’t revenge?” Mrs. Chaucer asked sympathetically.

“Mum!”

“I’m serious, Nigel. Look, honey, I understand if you’re feeling that way, I mean, I think I’d want revenge, too. I don’t blame you.”

Nigel sighed and ate more of his Yorkshire pudding. “You know it’s not, Mum. I wouldn’t stoop to that. Anyway, it’s bigger than that, I mean, this about a lot more than just me and Lucy. Plus, if I wanted revenge, I’d use one of Severus’ spells to make them really feel pain. Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.” He gripped his fork so tightly that it suddenly melted in his hand. He dropped it to the table with a clatter. “I do have a question to ask you both, concerning this Demagus potion.”

“Yes?” Mr. Chaucer asked, concerned by the seriousness of his son’s demeanour just now.

Nigel lowered his eyes, focusing entirely on the melted fork lying next to his empty plate. “What if I…you know…when I was sitting there with Taylor and his inner circle later tonight…what if I were to…you know…take some myself?”

Mr. Chaucer frowned. “Take the Demagus potion? What are you saying, Nigel?” He sounded horrified, scandalised.

“Nigel!” Mrs. Chaucer exclaimed, “don’t tell me you want to strip away your own powers! You can’t be serious about this.”

Mr. Chaucer reached across the table to take Nigel’s hand. “You have been through a lifetime of traumatic experiences in just three short years, I mean, think about it! You nearly lost your life in that accident, and then you went through a radical change in who you are as a person.”

“I know, Dad.” Lucy’s image suddenly haunted his thoughts, beckoning him. He imagined the shock and pain she must have felt as she was dying. And then he thought of Ginny and her soft kiss. Nigel sighed heavily.

Mr. Chaucer continued. “And then you were pushed into this job that is way too big even for the most experienced wizard. And of course, you lost Lucy in all this.”

“Maybe you just need a holiday,” Mrs. Chaucer suggested. “You were away for so long, but that was business, right? You need a proper holiday.”

Nigel nodded. “Remember when I first started at Hogwarts and I was feeling so homesick? It’s the same thing now, only worse.”

“You want to come home?” Mrs. Chaucer asked.

“No. I couldn’t do that, Mum, but thanks all the same. Look, forget I ever suggested taking the potion. I guess I just need to suck it up and be an adult. I’m being stupid.”

Mr. Chaucer looked at Nigel seriously. “You know you always have a place here, whenever you want.”

“I know, Dad. Thanks.”

* * * * *

It was actually Taylor’s suggestion to meet at the Leaky Cauldron, a decision that couldn’t have been more perfect to an eager and nervous Nigel. After the vote had been taken at the Ministry, Nigel and his team went to work to hash out all the particulars, all the policy decisions, all the penalties for attacks against muggles that might or might not result in the Demagus potion. On top of that, Nigel worked very closely with Kingsley Shaklebolt on arranging a meeting between the Ministry and Geoffrey Taylor himself. His people worked with their people, and all too quickly, a date, place and time had been arranged. All Nigel had to do was show up.

That arrangement in itself was a miracle. It took some very careful negotiations in order to make the whole meeting happen at all. Nigel decided to take a pretty big risk and enlist the help of the now-imprisoned Sophia Maimonides. Nigel had offered her a reduced sentence if she would help to arrange a secret meeting between Geoffrey Taylor, Heroditus Q and their inner circle. Sophia was quick to agree, mostly because she wanted to be free of the oppressive presence of the Dementors. She had given him a response within days.

So there it was—the Leaky Cauldron, midnight, July 1. Be there or suffer the consequences. When Nigel asked Sophia why Taylor requested such a public place, she offered no reply other than a shrug of the shoulders. But what did it matter? All Nigel cared about was that he was going to meet with these people, to set his plan in motion, once and for all.

After he left his parents’ house, Nigel apparated directly to the Leaky Cauldron at 11:00. To his knowledge, no one from Taylor’s camp was there yet. Nigel met with Tom, the proprietor, in the back room to go over a very important detail. Nigel held up a bottle of mead and emptied a large phial of the Demagus Potion into it. Then, he conjured a special label for the bottle, a white label emblazoned with a cobalt blue bear. Nigel tapped the bear with the tip of his wand.

“This bear is very important, Tom,” Nigel explained. “You must show each of these people the bear. Each of them must see it, even just for a couple of seconds. As you move around the table pouring out mead for everyone, make sure you show the label to each person before you pour out the mead into their glass. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir. Very clear.”

So when Geoffrey Taylor arrived at exactly midnight with Heroditus Q, Krista Quinn and eight others in their inner circle, Nigel was ready. He sat at the head of a long table in a dark corner of the dimly lit, lightly populated tavern, putting on as boyish a look as he could muster—he had made sure to wear an older, slightly shabby set of robes, rather than the magnificent ones he had “inherited” from Lucius Malfoy. Nigel waved his hand timorously as Taylor and his entourage entered. Taylor looked Nigel up and down with an imperious sneer, then sidled over casually to the table, placing himself at the opposite end as Nigel. Nigel looked up at everyone with innocent eyes as they all sat down.

Taylor looked remarkably unremarkable to Nigel, to his great disappointment. Nigel had expected some measure of ferocity, some rapier wit and flashing, angry eyes. What he got instead was a rather nondescript looking sort of fellow, middle aged, average height, a bit paunchy in the middle, sandy haired and lackluster. Where was the danger? Where was the edge? All Nigel could reckon was that there must be something in Taylor’s demeanour that would make up for his appearance. In that, Nigel was not disappointed. But Nigel had a plan…

“You’re right on time,” Nigel said brightly. “I think that’s great!”

Taylor barely cracked a smile as he looked deeply into Nigel’s eyes, presumably using Legilimency on him. Nigel kept as guarded as he could manage. He smiled nervously.

“I’m a little anxious about this, Mr. Taylor,” Nigel said. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Such as?” Taylor asked smoothly.

Just then, right on cue, Tom arrived with several glasses and the bottle of mead. He made sure the blue bear was in view of everyone at the table, including Nigel.

“Oh wait,” Nigel said. “Tom, why don’t you pour out some of this mead for everyone? You all like mead, right?”

Taylor shrugged. “I believe so. You old enough to drink, boy?” he asked Nigel.

“I should hope so, Mr. Taylor,” Nigel replied earnestly.

Tom then set a goblet before each person at the table, including Nigel, then poured out the mead, careful to follow Nigel’s instructions about showing each person the label with the blue bear. Everyone seemed happy to accept the mead, but Taylor didn’t look too impressed.

“You first,” he said to Nigel.

Nigel gulped nervously, knowing that Taylor and every other person at that table must drink that mead, and thus, the Demagus Potion. He bit his lower lip and attempted a giggle. “You must think I poisoned these glasses.”

Taylor raised an eyebrow. “It did occur to me. You drink first.”

Nigel looked deeply into his glass, examining the lovely amber colour of the mead. To his great satisfaction, the potion was entirely undetectable, either by sight or by smell…and he hoped, by taste. He thought for a moment, then placed his hand on the glass, lifted it to his mouth…and drank down the entire contents. Setting down his glass, he raised an eyebrow.

“Convinced now?” he asked.

Apparently they were, because the moment Nigel set his glass down, Taylor and his entourage lifted their glasses for a toast.

“Tom, another glass for me,” Nigel said.

With a look of uncertainty, Tom poured out another glass of tainted mead for Nigel. Nigel raised his glass with the others.

“To understanding,” Nigel said hopefully. “And to progress.”

Taylor threw him a look of sheer contempt, and then drained the contents of his glass. His entourage did likewise. Nigel took a deep breath.

“So, what do you say we get started?” he asked. “I wanted to talk about some choices.”

“Let’s talk about you first, Chaucer,” Taylor said casually. “You were a muggle at one time, correct?”

“Until my accident, yes.”

Taylor raised a dubious eyebrow. “And I hear you helped bring down the Dark Lord.”

“Many people helped with that, Mr. Taylor. I was one of a much larger team, as I am now.”

Taylor snorted. “Mr. Taylor? Do you hear that, Q? The Ministry Official is calling me Mr. Taylor!”

Taylor’s entourage laughed.

“You are very young, are you not?” Taylor asked. “What are you, eighteen? Nineteen? Twelve?”

“I’ll be nineteen at the end of the month, actually,” Nigel said firmly.

“Oh, nineteen! Very impressive!” Taylor said derisively. The entourage laughed again. “You’ll be out of your nappies soon, then.”

Nigel looked down, looking flustered and intimidated. “I was wondering if we could now talk about…”

“Yes, yes, choices,” Taylor said impatiently. “I should like to give the Ministry some choices.”

“Well actually, sir,” Nigel said nervously, “I wanted to give you some choices. Two, in fact.”

The entourage laughed again.

“Since when does a boy give a man choices?” Heroditus Q asked mockingly. “I think you need to learn your place, Chaucer.”

“Quite so,” Taylor said dangerously. His voice almost became a growl. “Here is YOUR choice, boy. You can tell that coward Scrimgeour that if he doesn’t reverse the Secrecy laws and the Muggle Protection Act, he will be responsible for hell on earth.”

“That’s pretty extreme, Mr. Taylor,” Nigel replied cautiously. “I can assure you that no one but you and this assembled company will be held responsible for your hell on earth. You should know that the Minister does not respond well to threats.”

Taylor laughed derisively. “I don’t care how well he responds to it! That is the reality! I have no respect for the concerns of a man who sends a child to do his dirty work, and you can tell him that, too.”

“Hmm,” Nigel replied thoughtfully. “That’s interesting.”

Heroditus Q snorted. “Interesting? Is that all you have to say? We are not joking about, sonny. This isn’t magic class any longer.”

Nigel tried not to laugh at being called “sonny.” “Oh, I don’t believe you’re joking at all, Mr. Taylor. I know how serious you are. It’s just that, I sort of had something else to present to you. See, the reality is, as far as the Ministry is concerned, is that at this point, _sir_ , you only have two choices for what you want to do,” Nigel started. He swallowed hard and continued, ignoring their indignant stares. “You and your entire entourage can choose between life in Azkaban or life in muggle prison.”

Silence.

“Excuse me,” Taylor said with an incredulous snigger. “What?”

“Life in Azkaban or…”

“I heard you, boy,” Taylor replied sharply.

“Then what do you want?” Nigel asked simply.

Taylor smirked. “Oh, I think muggle prison will do just fine. I doubt I’ll be there long.”

“Oh yeah, you can apparate out of it, right?” Nigel asked. “You have a point. I suppose you’re rather open to that choice, then.”

“You Ministry officials are all the same!” Taylor said bitterly. “You think you can throw out these idle threats of muggle prison and think that I’ll take you seriously? You are either insane or extremely stupid. Or both.”

“I am quite serious, in fact, even about muggle prison. Furthermore, I have no doubt that you will be there for quite a long time, actually. If you’d like to disapparate to somewhere private and think it over together, I’ll understand.”

Heroditus Q gave Nigel a fierce look. “I have to say, Geoff, that I am beyond insulted. Here we are, very serious about our mission and our beliefs, and the Ministry sends us this silly, naïve child!”

Nigel looked down glumly. “Then take my suggestion and disapparate so you can deliberate, if you think I’m so stupid. If you can disapparate away, who is to say I can possibly find you?

“And why should I wish to deliberate anything you say?” Taylor asked. “As far as I’m concerned, your very presence here is an insult to me and to our movement. It is a sign that the Ministry is not serious at all, if they are relying on the likes of you to babble ridiculously at us.” With that, Taylor stood up to leave. The rest of the party followed, but so did Nigel.

“I’m sorry you feel this way, Mr. Taylor,” Nigel said apologetically. “However, I simply cannot allow you to walk out of here.”

“Oh really?” Taylor asked jokingly. “And how are you going to stop us?”

Nigel sighed. “Well you see, sir, this tavern is filled with Aurors ready to arrest you,” Nigel said.

At that moment, thirty Aurors standing in the shadows unmasked themselves and advanced on the small entourage gathered at the table.

“The time to choose is now, Mr. Taylor,” Nigel said. “These Aurors stand ready to arrest you this very night, regardless of anything you may have to say. So what will it be? Azkaban or muggle prison?”

Taylor stood up and focused his thoughts—Nigel knew what he was trying to do, and when Taylor did not disapparate, Nigel could only laugh at Taylor’s frustration.

“Do you know what’s going on, Taylor?” he asked, his voice now strong and assured. He got up close to Taylor at that point, almost nose to nose with him.

“Shut up!” Taylor spat, focusing all his features again.

“Go on, try and disapparate,” Nigel said, even stronger now. “Have you heard of the Demagus Potion, Mr. Taylor?”

“No.”

Nigel laughed. “Well each and every one of you drank it tonight. Your powers are gone. You are now nothing more than a MUGGLE!”

“That’s ridiculous!” he roared. “That is not possible! Everyone knows that!”

“It is possible,” Nigel replied casually. “I created the potion myself.”

“But you drank it!” Taylor spat. “Then you’re a muggle, too! You must be! Why would you do that to yourself?” He sounded more than a bit desperate now, almost frantic.

“It might interest you to know that I took a Shield Potion an hour earlier, you stupid idiot!” Nigel shouted. “Do you think I would willingly take a potion that stripped me of my magic? I know you think me an insolent, foolish boy, but I caution you not to be betrayed by looks. They can be most deceiving.”

“I don’t believe you!” Taylor shouted. “Show me! Show me your magic!”

Nigel shrugged nonchalantly, looked at a statue of Merlin in the corner and winked at it. In a flash, a bouquet of purple roses emerged from the top of Merlin’s hat. Nigel turned back casually to face a stunned Taylor.

“Satisfied?” he asked. Nigel nodded to Shaklebolt and the other Aurors, who quickly took Taylor and his entourage into custody. As they were being bound and readied for transport to Azkaban, Nigel threw a boyish look to a furious, devastated Taylor. “I’m sorry you can’t stay for more mead, Mr. Taylor, sir,” he said in mock sweetness. “We still have ever so much more to talk about. Do be sure to give me your answer about the choice I have you, yeah?”

The Aurors took a firm hold of the entire entourage and disapparated. Nigel turned to a stunned Tom and grinned.

“Thanks for your help, Tom,” he said. “You did great. Did you use all the mead or is there any left?”

“There’s just a drop. You want it back?”

“Please. We must treat this very carefully. No one else must drink this, or they’ll turn into muggles, too.”

Tom gave Nigel the corked bottle, which he took back with him to the Ministry. He tucked the remainder of the tainted mead in his desk, and with some measure of reluctance, apparated to Azkaban.


	25. Decisions Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Taylor crisis draws to a close, Nigel has to make some big decisions about the rest of his life. Does he stay in the Ministry or will he do something else with his talents? And when Ginny asks him a serious question, how will Nigel respond?

It was a long, hellish night in Azkaban as Nigel and his team processed and interrogated Geoffrey Taylor, Heroditus Q and their most dangerous followers. They weren’t able to get much information out of the interviews, but then again, the team never expected to in the first place. The most important thing was that these dark wizards…well…squibs now…were in custody and unable to harm anyone ever again with magic.

This was only Nigel’s third visit to the wizard prison, and each time he went there, he hated it all the more. He wondered how even the strongest wizard could endure the deathly presence of the Dementors, and as much as he hated and resented Taylor, Nigel couldn’t help hoping that he would choose muggle prison over this horrible place.

“Here’s what will happen to you all,” Nigel explained to a now grey-clad, rather paler Taylor and his followers. “If you choose muggle prison, then you will be turned over to the muggle authorities, processed and put before a muggle judge and jury for your crimes against muggles. And considering that you murdered a muggle reporter on live television in front of millions of witnesses, I doubt very much that you will be treated with much mercy.”

Taylor looked absolutely stoic, as inscrutable as Snape could be on his worst days. Nigel went on.

“If you choose Azkaban, you will be put before the Wizengamot for trial. Again, I doubt very much that they will look on you very favourably. In fact, I could see them giving you the Dementor’s Kiss.”

Taylor squirmed so slightly that Nigel nearly missed it. Yet by using Legilimency, Nigel knew exactly what Taylor was thinking. Nigel stood up.

“You’ll be sent back to your cells to make your final decisions. You have three days. In that time, we will return for your answer.”

“You’re a coward,” Taylor said, his voice a little strained.

Nigel stopped in his tracked and whipped around. “What did you say?” he spat. Kingsley placed a warning hand on Nigel’s shoulders, but Nigel shook him off.

“You are a bloody coward,” Taylor repeated in deliberate tones. “Can’t face me as a wizard, so you have to trick me into drinking your little potion. You make me look innocent! I should bring a lawsuit against you!”

“Based on what?” Nigel demanded. “I find it laughable that you should be suddenly so concerned about rights when you had absolutely no regard for the rights of those you maimed and killed! You’re the coward, not I!”

“I had the courage to follow my beliefs, whereas you employ little schoolboy sneak attacks! Is that the only way you can manage to defeat me?”

“Sneak attacks? What about Glenda Babb? What about Mrs. Smythe? What about Lucy Fairchild? Did any of them have any idea they were about to die? And about that black pill that Krista Quinn was about to give to me in Vegas? If that’s not a sneak attack, then I don’t know what is!”

“At least I was out in the open!”

Nigel laughed. “Yeah, only after the Ministry arrested over sixty of your cronies and foiled your plot to destroy the muggle Houses of Parliament! And _you_ criticise _ME,/i > for being a coward? You are as rank and as low as Lord Voldemort himself, you bloody hypocrite!”_

Furious that he might do bodily harm to Taylor, Nigel quickly turned and headed for the door of the interview room.

“Her insides melted whilst she was still alive, Chaucer!” Taylor called maniacally. “It took her fifteen excruciating minutes to die!”

Nigel froze in his tracks. Pain shot through his heart. He felt his throat tighten.

“Hey, Chaucer!” Taylor shouted. “Shall I tell you how the blood ran out of her ears? How she choked on her tongue before it slithered down her throat?”

Nigel could barely breathe as the fury raged more and more powerfully, threatening to destroy him all over again. He placed a shaking hand against the doorframe and fought to calm himself down, then turned to face an almost insane-looking Taylor. Nigel advanced on Taylor, his fists clenched.

“Nigel,” Shaklebolt warned. “Don’t.”

“Yes, Nigel,” Taylor parroted mockingly. “Don’t! You might soil your nappies!”

Nigel stood up close to Taylor, looking into the man’s dead eyes.

“The time for you to do any real damage to me or to anyone else is over, Mr. Taylor,” Nigel said, his teeth firmly clenched. “Enjoy your imprisonment.”

* * * * *

Outside the gates of the prison, Nigel breathed in the cool early morning air. He found it difficult to shake off the staleness and death of Azkaban, though he stood in the fresh morning breeze as the sun rose in the far horizon. A sick, sour feeling turned his stomach, assaulting his insides painfully. For a horrible moment, Nigel thought he might throw up, but he didn’t. He walked a few paces, stretching out his arms and waving them in little circles, just to get his muscles and his blood moving. Shaklebolt could only stand, nearly frozen, shuddering and pale.

“You OK?” Nigel asked. “You look like hell.”

“I thought you were going to kill Taylor,” Shaklebolt said. “I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

“I wanted to for a moment,” Nigel admitted. “Is that awful?”

“I would have covered it up, you know. No one would have found out.”

“You shouldn’t say such things, Kingsley,” Nigel said, a bit embarrassed.

“It’s true, sir.”

“Nigel. Please.”

“Nigel, then. I’m proud of you tonight. You didn’t let him get to you.”

Nigel looked downcast. “He did get to me. More than he will ever know.”

* * * * *

As the sun rose in the sky, a young man clad in rich blue robes swept across the vast expanse of the graveyard, searching amongst the names of those who lay there for one stone in particular. Janis Borchard. Louis McGreevey. Belinda Carmichael. Baby Jimmy Demontfort, aged six months. Next row. Next row. Carmine Santini. He remembered Carmine from his childhood. Two more stones. No. Next. Next. There it was, adorned with fresh flowers. Lilies this time. Last month, he had sent daisies. The month prior, pink roses.

This month, Nigel brought Forget-Me-Nots. He laid them carefully before Lucy’s headstone and sat down before it, his face tired and strained. Nigel traced his finger along her name etched into the marble, picturing her face and her voice. He pressed his fingertips to his lips, then against the stone. A tear fell down his cheek, but Nigel did not wipe it away. He remained there for a few minutes, head bowed, arm outstretched toward the grave, not wanting to let go. The wind tickled his ears, carrying with it the voices of the dead. The morning felt cool and inviting and peaceful just then, as if a new spirit had descended upon him, shaking off the detritus of the old. He felt a shiver down his spine, and then warmth throughout his body.

It was time to go.

Nigel stood up and dusted the blades of grass from his robes. He dried his face with the back of his sleeve, noting with a touch of mirth that Lucius Malfoy would be outraged to see his robes be used as a handkerchief. He shrugged and smiled at the grave.

“Good bye, Lucy,” he said. “Pray for me.”

* * * * *

Life in Azkaban, as it turned out, was Taylor’s choice. Quinn, however, chose to take a chance in the muggle courts. Krista and most of the others did likewise, figuring that they might get time off for good behaviour. But Taylor remained solid in his choice, arguing that in spite of the theft of his powers, he was still a wizard—he refused to lower himself by going to muggle prison.

So there.

No one at the Ministry thought for a moment that the arrests and convictions of Geoffrey Taylor and his inner circle would bring the end to the insurgency, and as it happened, they were correct. The attacks continued, though not as many as before. In the meantime, the Ministry had published the new penalties for attacks against muggles in _The Daily Prophet_ :

 **Attack on muggle property:** 5 years in Azkaban.

 **Interference with muggle business or daily life:** 10 years in Azkaban

 **Attack on a muggle or muggle property or business resulting in injury:** 25 years to life in Azkaban, depending on severity of the injury

 **Attack on a muggle resulting in death** The Demagus Potion, plus 25 years to life in Azkaban, or in muggle prison

The news of these new penalties caused much discussion and debate in the wizarding world. Many thought the Ministry had overstepped its bounds, especially regarding the Demagus Potion. How could they just take away a wizard’s powers, just like that? Isn’t that too harsh? Isn’t that unjust? But many others saw wisdom in the plan, seeing that ones magic was a gift to be used for good, not for overpowering the powerless. As much criticism as the Ministry, and Nigel specifically, received, they were greeted with much more praise and applause for finally taking attacks against muggles seriously.

That felt good.

On the morning of September 1, 1999, Nigel, flanked by Rufus Scrimgeour, Arthur Weasley and Kingsley Shaklebolt, gave a press conference for all the wizard news outlets around the world. Parvati Patil was there for _The Daily Prophet_ as a full-fledged reporter; reporters from _Witch Weekly, The Quibbler,_ and many other publications flocked to the main conference room of the Ministry of Magic to hear what the Minister had to say on this occasion.

“Thank you all for coming today,” Scrimgeour said. “Today is a day of change for us at the Ministry of Magic. As you all know, the Ministry has worked very hard over the last year to contain the current crisis involving convicted murderer Geoffrey Taylor and his followers. As of this day, the situation is not entirely resolved, but it is better. Under the leadership of young Nigel Chaucer, we have been able to attack the crisis with direction and with tremendous force. While there has been a certain amount of controversy over some of our decisions and policy changes, no one can argue that they have been ineffectual. In fact, our new and aggressive policies have allowed both the wizarding and the muggle worlds to relax and go back to our usual routines.”

A few people clapped.

“It is with a heavy heart, however,” Scrimgeour continued, “that I must announce a drastic change in our staff. In spite of much pleading on my part to try and change his mind, Nigel Chaucer has decided to step down from his post…”

The room erupted in shocked and excited murmuring amongst the reporters. Nigel felt his face turn bright red as Scrimgeour continued.

“…and pursue a career as a Healer…”

More murmuring, even louder and almost frantic. Nigel puzzled at the tone of the room.

Scrimgeour went on, raising his voice above the crowd. “After Nigel gave me his resignation, I first offered the vacated post to Mr. Arthur Weasley, assistant to Mr. Chaucer, but Arthur turned it down. The only other person I felt was truly qualified to fill Mr. Chaucer’s shoes is Mr. Kingsley Shaklebolt, from the Auror Office. Thankfully, Kingsley agreed to take over the post.”

Applause. More murmuring.

“I want to take this moment to thank Nigel Chaucer for everything he did for us this last year,” Scrimgeour said. “Many people wondered why I would bring in such a young person for such an important post, yet I defy anyone to tell me I made the wrong decision. Nigel has carried the burden of this crisis on his young and very capable shoulders with the wisdom and grace of someone fifty years his senior. He suffered both tremendous physical and emotional pain and a terrible personal loss throughout this effort, and yet, he remained dedicated and brave beyond belief.”

More applause. Nigel blushed hotly.

“And so, I wish to thank you, Nigel, for your dedication and your incredible year of service to the Ministry and to the wizarding world. While we wish you well in your new career as a Healer, I want you to know that we will sorely miss you and your leadership.”

Scrimgeour slapped Nigel on the back as he came forward to say a few parting words amidst the wild applause resounding throughout the packed room. On the sidelines, a stunned Hermione Granger dried her eyes and gripped the arm of an equally shocked Ron Weasley, who stood next to a speechless Harry Potter.

“Thank you, Minister,” Nigel began. “This was a hard decision for me to make, but after much thought and contemplation and discussion with my loved ones, I found that I really need to step down from this post and allow more seasoned talent to take over from here. It has been a true honour to serve you all in the Ministry, and in spite of what happened in my personal life, I can only look back with pride and satisfaction at what we all accomplished this past year. All that aside, I have always felt a calling to the medical field. Back when I was a muggle, I dreamed of being a doctor. As a wizard, I now dream of fulfilling that same calling as a Healer. Therefore, it is with a little regret and a tremendous amount of thanks that I officially step down from the Ministry of Magic as of this Friday.”

Flashes from the dozens of cameras went off like fireworks, blinding Nigel’s eyes.

“Mr. Chaucer! We’d like to ask you some questions!” a reporter shouted.

“What will you do until your Healer training starts?” Parvati asked.

“Well, I’ve got two weeks until I report to St. Mungo’s for my classes,” Nigel replied. “I’m planning to visit my muggle friends at university, and I’m taking my girlfriend to Paris for the weekend. I’ll see my parents, go to a few parties, visit my cousin, things like that.”

“Will you meet with the French Minister of Magic in Paris?” another reporter asked.

“I don’t think so. Ginny and I just want to see the Louvre and dine at Maxim’s. That’s about it.” He saw Ron start, and Hermione take him by the arm. Nigel also saw Harry smile ever so slightly. He caught Harry’s eye—Harry winked. Nigel nodded.

“Do you have any regrets?” another reporter asked.

“I have a lot of regrets,” Nigel replied. “I had to learn this job from day one because it was an entirely new post, created precisely for this crisis. I made a lot of mistakes, but I know I was able to accomplish a few good things.”

“Some have criticised your Demagus Potion and called it cruel and unusual punishment. Do you agree, in hindsight?” another reporter asked.

“Absolutely not,” Nigel said firmly. “It is as final as the Dementor’s Kiss, but the person doesn’t lose his soul. Believe it or not, you can be very happy in life without magic. I was happy as a muggle, and I could be happy again. Losing ones powers does not spell the end of the world for anyone. I’ll take one more question. Parvati?”

Parvati smiled. “Tell us about the Lucy Fairchild Fund.”

“That was actually Ginny Weasley’s idea, but I thought it was great. It’s a fund to help restore and rebuild muggle properties damaged by dark wizards, using muggle means. So far, we’ve managed to raise a half million Galleons, mostly donated by Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. _Witch Weekly_ and _The Daily Prophet_ both carry adverts about the fund and where you can make your donation. It’s something we can all do to mend the gap between ourselves and the muggles. The key is to get both our worlds completely back to normal so that they can live their lives in privacy and we can live ours.”

Scrimgeour stepped up to take over for Nigel. “Nigel, I would like to add a thousand Galleons to that fund,” he said.

Much applause erupted from the crowd. The speeches went on for a while longer, and then it was more photos, lots of handshakes and far too many good-byes.

* * * * *

It wasn’t that he missed the publicity or the notoriety or being the centre of attention or anything. But still, it felt strange to Nigel as he sat at his magnificent desk one last time. As much as he wanted to get on with his life, he knew he would miss this place terribly. Nigel loved that big desk, the masses of books on his shelves, Donna…and Arthur. He would miss Arthur more than anything. Of course he would be seeing Arthur frequently now that he and Ginny were getting more serious with each other. In fact, Nigel thought with a surge of glee, he might one day be able to call Arthur “Dad.”

But that wouldn’t be for some time. After all, Nigel was barely nineteen, Ginny eighteen. She had her own career as an apprentice journalist for _Quiddtich World Weekly_ to think of. Ginny would get to travel quite a bit, see Quidditch matches all over the world, report on key matches, get to know players. It all sounded very exciting, especially as she was the first female reporter the magazine had employed in over 125 years. They would eventually have time for other things, maybe even…

Who knew? Nigel may have been an expert Legilimens, but he was no diviner of the future. He decided to leave that to greater minds and to Centaurs. Nigel was satisfied with what was, for the first time in ages. He sat back in his chair and smiled, taking in the calm, sweet air.

Arthur poked his head in the door. “Anyone home?” he asked. He came in and sat down opposite Nigel. “Ready?”

“Yep. I’ve given Kingsley the grand tour, so he seems ready to take up the slack. I wish it were you, though.”

Arthur blushed a little. “Kingsley’s a great man,” he said.

“I know. But so are you.”

“I’m happy in this post, Nigel. You had a lot to do with that, to be honest.”

“I’m sure it must have been awkward to report to someone my age.”

“I never thought of you quite like that.” Arthur laughed. “You’re not quite the typical eighteen year-old. I’ll miss you.”

“I’m coming over for dinner tomorrow night!”

Arthur smiled. “I’ll miss you here, though.” He stood up and gave Nigel a warm embrace. Nigel picked up his briefcase and moved toward the door. “Be sure to bring Draco and that awful girlfriend of his tomorrow.”

Nigel laughed. “You sure you want Pansy over? You know how she’ll behave.”

“Yes, but don’t worry about that. Fred and George are coming, too.”

Nigel and Arthur walked up the corridor toward the lifts, stopping to say good-bye to everyone: Rufus, Gawain, a weeping Donna, Hermione.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow at the Burrow, right?” Nigel asked her.

Hermione brushed a few stray tears from her eyes and then threw her arms around him. “Thank you for all you did, Nigel,” she said. Nigel held her briefly, then let her go.

“Hey come on, no big scenes,” Nigel said. They laughed. “I gotta go. I told Harry I’d go Potions shopping with him.”

Hermione made a face. “Potions shopping?”

“Auror stuff. I guess he needs some supplies for his training, so I’m helping him out.”

“He’s not mad at you about Ginny?”

Nigel paused. “Did he tell you he was?”

“No. Then again, I haven’t seen much of him these days. He’s been off at some secret training camp for Aurors for the last two weeks. So is he OK with you and Ginny?”

“I guess,” Nigel said, shrugging. “I think they’d been slowly breaking up for a while, and he’s never given me any indication that he was upset with me. Harry’s a good bloke.”

Hermione squeezed his arm. “Yeah, he is.”

So it didn’t shock or surprise Nigel when Harry turned up at the Weasley home Saturday evening. In spite of a potentially awkward situation because of Nigel’s involvement with Ginny, there was a certain peace and understanding between them. The atmosphere that entire evening, in fact, was one of warmth, intimacy and family. Fred and George were at their comic best, imitating their more annoying and cloying customers. Ron told his horrified mother about his visit to the St. Mungo’s morgue.

“Stop!” Molly cried. “I’m trying to keep my dinner down!”

Everyone laughed. After more stories, more jokes and many more laughs, Arthur stood up to make a toast, but before he could say a word, Ginny interrupted him.

“Sorry, Dad, but I was wondering if I could break in just now,” she said, a bit sheepishly. “I’ve had a bit of a talk with Harry about this, and he agrees with me. In fact, what I’m about to say is his idea, so bear with me a bit. It’s a bit radical, so be cautioned.”

“You’re off to a nunnery, right?” Fred asked. Everyone laughed again.

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him. “Not quite. In fact, it’s pretty much the opposite.” She paused and took a deep breath. “As you all know, Nigel and I have been together for a few months…”

“Three, right?” Ron asked sardonically.

Ginny scowled at him. “Anyway, it wasn’t until a few days ago that I started to realise exactly what Nigel means to me, and when I thought about life without him…well…I just couldn’t. I know we’re probably too young and we haven’t been together that long and we’re both really busy with our careers and everything, but Nigel, I think I’ve loved you since I met you three years ago when you were so new and sweet and awkward and overwhelmed, and…will you marry me?”

“What?” Nigel exclaimed. All he could do was sit there in complete shock—this was the very last thing he ever expected. In fact, Nigel expected that he would be the one to propose, not the other way around. He could only sit there, with all eyes on him, anxiously awaiting his rapid response.

George laughed. “No pressure, mate!”

“I…don’t know what to say,” Nigel replied, more than a little breathlessly.

“How about yes?” George asked.

“Hey wait,” Fred said. “If Nigel has our blood in him, won’t this be incest?”

“Nah,” George replied. “Too much muggle in him. Plus, he’s got that Snape blood in him.”

“Prince blood, not Snape,” Draco corrected him. “Let’s not get confused here.”

“So how about it?” George asked Nigel. “Go on, give us an answer!”

“George!” Molly snapped. “He has to answer Ginny, not us!”

“He’ll be marrying a whole family, not just one person,” Fred said.

“Zat eez true,” Fleur said, a little bitingly.

“No pressure, mate!” Harry joked, noting the uncomfortable expression on Nigel’s face.

Nigel laughed. “Wow, I’m just a bit in shock,” he said. “Ginny, I…I honestly think I’ve been in love with you since I first started at Hogwarts, and even though you and I have gone our separate ways over the years…” He sighed. “…I think it’s always been you. So…yes, I will marry you, if that’s OK with your parents, that is.”

Arthur beamed. “Well I think you know I approve, Nigel. And I hope I speak for Molly, too, correct?”

A teary eyed Molly nodded. She blew her nose and dried her eyes. “Of course, dear. Oh Nigel, I’d love for you to be a part of our family!”

“Then it’s settled, right?” Fred said eagerly.

Nigel laughed. “I think it’s settled!”

Ginny threw herself into his arms and kissed his lips, laughing and crying all at once.

“I love you, Ginny,” Nigel said.

And so the night passed in peace and friendship and laughter, free from strife and pain. Nigel knew that he would face new challenges in the coming days and weeks, but for now, on this lovely summer night among the buttercups and the willows and the wailing ghoul, he was content to remain in the moment and feel himself carried away by the enduring sweetness of life.

 

_**THE END** _


End file.
